


A Summer Departs Late in Bangkok

by lishiyo



Series: Seasons of Life and Death [1]
Category: Original Work, Thai Actor RPF, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF, เพราะรักใช่ป่าว | Why R U?: The Series (TV) RPF, เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Action & Romance, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, BrightWin AU - Freeform, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone is kind of a badass, Gangster drama with martial arts fantasy elements from Jade City but not a real crossover, M/M, Mafia AU, MewGulf AU, Modern Era, More drama than angst, Multi-ship but MewGulf are the main, Prisoner plot, Slow Burn, Suspense, This Will Hopefully Go Epic in Length, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Unresolved Sexual Tension, ZaintSee AU, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lishiyo/pseuds/lishiyo
Summary: Ten years ago, after generations of warring over territory, honor, and the jade that endows its wielders with special powers and strength, two clans finally laid down their arms in Bangkok: the Kiriguns, with their 19-year-old Alpha heir already a feared warrior, and the Phawattakuns, with a heir still young and unknown but much anticipated as the future rival.Ten years later, Mew Suppasit Kirigun has abruptly become the new Pillar of his clan, and it is an uneasy peace. Old hatreds wash away slowly in the Chao Phraya, and new ones lurk in the cloudy waters of its more distant riverbanks. When strange incidents start troubling the new Pillar's reign, he starts looking for answers. And if it's in the figure of their age-old enemies, then so be it. He has unfinished business with that clan.There's something odd about the Phawattakuns' heir though. For one thing, no one's seen him in almost a decade. For another, there's a rumor going around: he might not be the heir at all.Because Kanawut Phawattakun, they're saying, is an omega.—-tl;dr: a slow-burn, multi-ship Mafia AU set in modern-day Bangkok where Mew and Gulf are heirs to enemy clans. Primary ships: MewGulf, BrightWin, ZaintSee.
Relationships: Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree/Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn, Max Nattapol Diloknawarit/Tul Pakorn Thanasrivanitchai, Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong, New Thitipoom Techaapaikhun/Tay Tawan Vihokratana, Nine Noppakao Dechaphatthanakun/Earth Katsamonnat Namwirote, Off Jumpol Adulkittiporn/Gun Atthaphan Phunsawat, Ohm Thitiwat Ritprasert/Fluke Natouch Siripongthon, Prem Warut Chawalitrujiwong/Boun Noppanut Guntachai, Zee Pruk Panich/Saint Suppapong Udomkaewkanjana
Series: Seasons of Life and Death [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883320
Comments: 60
Kudos: 156





	1. Prologue: Sons of a Summer Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been threatening to write a mafia AU for a while on my twitter, so here we go :P It's all thanks to a whole bunch of recent obsessions:  
> \- the image of a colder, intimidating-warrior Mew, a Mew that has all his innate gentleness but grows up in this harsh, violent world  
> \- Season of You's allusions to Hades and Persephone, the story of a sweet, naive innocent taken captive to the underworld and forced to bargain with their captor  
> \- my sheer desperation to throw Brightwin Zaintsee and Maxtul next to Mewgulf and see them all interact XD (so that's how this just ended up with, er, over a dozen BL characters)  
> \- my love for this martial-arts-gangster series called The Green Bone Saga (which you def don't need to have read, I pull some ideas from it but it's all explained along the way). That's where the slightly-superpowered martial arts comes in, because there's this special jade that gives people heightened strength, dexterity, and senses and the clans are set up around fighting with jade instead of just pure gunfights, even though this is Bangkok in the year 2020. (I wanted to practice writing more action, and I find martial arts more interesting than straight shoot-outs!)
> 
> I'm AWFUL with keeping fics going but I have a lot of arc ideas for this one, so I'm hoping it'll get very long. Here's a massive list of disclaimers:  
> \- The main ship is Mewgulf, along with a good amount of Zaintsee and Brightwin, plus a variety of other ships that are minor here: Maxtul, Offgun, Taynew, Bounprem, KaoEarth, OhmFluke, and maybe a few more later. I only really know MG well and to a lesser extent ZS and BW, so I apologize if I totally screw up your favorite character or pairing :( I will say upfront that no one in the character tags here will die so all your ships are safe! This is a slow burn with darkness and angst but I swear on a happy ending.  
> \- Anyone not explicitly named in the characters list IS MADE UP, including all "bad guys" and family members. If someone matches a known name or description I apologize, that's ENTIRELY coincidental. I've taken a lot of liberty with backgrounds here, many of them have a dark past (it IS a Mafia/gangster AU 😅), so please keep in mind this is 1000% fictional. Namely, I REALLY want to avoid accidentally bringing in our boys' amazing families, who are all so loving and supportive - that's why the last names are Kirigun and Phawattakun, not Jongcheveevat and Traipipattanapong for example. The clans here are super made up!  
> \- This isn't beta'ed and I don't know much about Thailand outside BL dramas (probably not the most representative source material hahaha), I've been trying to do some research but I apologize if I get anything badly wrong. This is pretty AU already because of the whole gangster and jade thing, but it is still supposed to be set in modern-day Bangkok and I hope not entirely off-track.  
> \- This is Alpha/Beta/Omega fic but it's not a big part of this series, and it's totally fine if you've never heard of it before, I'll explain along the way. Basically there are three "secondary genders" on top of the usual sexes, which manifest in physical differences and allow males to get pregnant. Betas are the most common and don't have any defining traits, Alphas are unusually strong and dominant, Omegas tend to be smaller and often assumed to be more submissive. I think ABO is fascinating in terms of exploring gender dynamics and how innate physical inequality might play into social inequality, so that's the main role that it plays here: the fact that Gulf is an Omega, the "lowest" secondary-gender, while Mew is an Alpha, the highest/most prestigious secondary-gender, is important here.

_Character Covers (more incoming as they are introduced):_

  
  


_~ Prologue: 10 years ago ~_

There was no killing like a clan killing.

Deputy Commissioner Wirat Dechaphatthanakun tugged the button loose at his collar, let the packet of paper he'd been rifling with one hand drop onto the table in the same heavy motion. The sigh he swallowed back down inside his heart. Gazing at the bruised coffee cup in his hand, he had the vague impression it was the third he'd had this night, but his pulse was slow and reluctant, not thumping with adrenaline as it normally would be for a call this late. Nor would he, a disciplined man and senior commander representing Bangkok's elite homicide unit, normally allow himself to grace the station like this: collar undone, hair disheveled from being disturbed all night. _Are your witnesses dogs or men,_ his father used to say. _Don't even suspects deserve the respect of a guest?_

But these were not normal times, and the witness in front of him was not a man.

The Deputy Commissioner slid the packet across the table. The child hunched there did not stir.

Shaven-headed and bony-kneed, Kanawut Phawattakun did not look any different from any other 12-year-old schoolboy. He was still in his school uniform even, a glimpse of a dark burgundy smear on his shoulder peeking out beneath the police jacket someone had thrown on him. In this he sat very still, gaze fixed at the edge of the table, with features so muted Wirat would wonder if he'd even cried were it not for the different ring of stains on his sleeve. He had not lifted his eyes once since being brought from the hospital.

Small, skinny, and pressed so tight within himself the whole demeanor he gave off was that of a mouse: a quiet prey animal trying to disappear. No one would guess that this child was the son of one of the two great Clans in the city, and heir to a legacy so violent that people in Bangkok gave names to the periods of peace. _The end of monsoon rain and the return of warring season,_ so the saying went. _Are there truths more eternal than these?_

"Son," Wirat began, and the boy flinched. He had his knees clamped together and you couldn't see his feet from here but even so you could sense the tremor flutter through the whole body. A nervous child, Wirat thought, and then felt a flash of shame for thinking it: what child _wouldn't_ be shell-shocked after seeing his mother killed in front of his own eyes? But not for the first time the thought floated up, ungenerous, from a lifetime of investigator habit: whether the boy really _was_ late with his secondary-gender presentation, or if it was simply not the one his people desired. It wouldn't be the first time a clan leader had attempted to pass off a Beta son as an Alpha for as long as they could. Modern society was not supposed to care about these things - almost three-quarters of the population was Beta, shouldn't a Beta child be expected? - but Wirat suspected that such scientific reasoning did not move several hundred years' worth of Clan mythology and tradition: the eldest son should be an Alpha. Especially in a time like this, where even the smallest sign of the will of Heaven was whispered from the gutters to the eaves.

"Son," Wirat sighed. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

The boy stayed silent.

"Your mother performed several acts of tremendous generosity to the Royal Thai Police," Wirat continued. "She will be greatly missed here. Irrespective of our stance of neutrality, I can promise you that we will investigate - we will assist your father in investigating - the men who committed this crime to the fullest extent of the law."

He watched the boy's face. If his suspicions were right, _fullest extent_ was a slippery term: the RTP could investigate and gather evidence that would indeed be useful later, in the court of public opinion if not in the court of law, but at some point they would come across an impenetrable line.

That line would be called the Kirigun, because Wirat had little doubt they were behind the killing, and that meant this was a clan affair. And clan affairs were not to be touched by outsiders, even when they spilled onto the streets and _sois_ of Bangkok, even when the Chao Phraya herself ran slower and uneasily, as if swollen with the murmurs of her passengers and the worries of the night.

There was one thing that gave him pause though, and that was that killing a Pillar's wife was unheard of. Certainly in Wirat's lifetime, a series of accumulated tensions that would quietly tip over like so much tea on the steps of a temple just when it threatened to overflow, this was unimaginable. The two clans fought off and on for territory, jade, pride - they'd kill each other in their duels, but had a kind of code about harming civilians and family. It was the height of shame to break it, and the penalty, from what Wirat had gathered, was usually either exile or death.

And to kidnap a child in the process as well . . .

Had the Kiriguns become so inflamed by vengeance that they would break their own code? Especially now, with rumors that the old warhorse Chakrii Kirigun was considering the previously-unimaginable and softening to the idea of peace talks. What if it was just terrible luck and some low-life gang, of the sort that was proliferating while the clans distracted each other, spotted what they thought was an easy ransom mark? Forcing a woman to kneel and slitting her throat - that wasn't the way these people did their business, right? Wirat was not as reverent of the Clans as many of his countrymen were, but he did know this: they prided themselves on being warriors, and granted warrior's deaths.

But to probe the matter . . . that would be difficult, if not impossible at the moment. Wirat looked at the motionless boy across from him. There was only one survivor, and he was traumatized. It would take some time, the Deputy Commissioner concluded silently, for the child psychologists to be able to work on him and tease out whether he might be able to give a statement or at least some description of the kidnappers who'd taken him and his mother.

In the meantime, his father the No Cloud Pillar would no doubt assume it was the Kiriguns, and the recent abatement in bloodshed between the Naga and No Cloud clans would be torn to pieces in the wind like the fragile thing it was.

"It's okay if you can't speak right now," Wirat murmured in as gentle a voice as he could make it. He was hardly the warmest man, but being a father of some years helped. "We can do this later, son, you've had a very difficult day. Let's get you some rest, shall we? Your father will be here soon -"

And speak of the devil, because a sudden clamor was rising from a distant part of the station. Not a few seconds later the door flew open, and in swept a short, spare man with a quick step that Wirat recognized well from the media: Tanet Phawattakun, Pillar of the No Cloud clan. 

Sallow-skinned and eyes darkened with grim hollows beneath, he did not look as energetic as he did when discussing the effect of sports investment on the high-end tourism market on the morning news channels that he sometimes appeared on. But he looked sharp for a man whose wife had just been murdered, and he stood without moving in the doorway as four, five men - bodyguards, Wirat presumed, or more lieutenants, the green glint of jade-hilted talon knives casually hanging by their sides - streamed in. 

The boy lifted his head.

"You'll forgive me if I'm late, Deputy Commissioner." The Pillar's eyes flicked to his son at the table, and Wirat saw there was some glistening emotion in it that was real, that was not cold, but he did not rush over like many parents would. "There were matters that needed to be cleared first, as I'm sure you understand."

"I understand," Wirat said. "In truth, I was just about to have your son taken to the private lounge and see if he can have a lie-down. The hospital gave us clearance but ordered plenty of bed rest for the next few days, and he's refused to eat or drink thus far -"

"Good," the Pillar said. "He knows better than to accept food from strangers. Even," he added slightly more courteously, "the police."

"I see." Wirat was silent for a moment. This was the first time he'd ever seen the boy, so fiercely protective were both clans of the privacy of their families, though not the first time he'd met the Pillar. As one of the RTP leadership, maintaining a courteous line of communications to both clans was one of his most important duties, and indeed he'd even had a kind of rare breakthrough in being invited to a merit-making with the No Cloud clan last September, which he'd respectfully declined because their Naga counterpart had not extended the same. But he would never call them _familiar_ by any means. Wirat was law enforcement, but he was jadeless; that made him a civilian in their eyes. And a stranger, not clan, witnessing a private misery. The Phawattakuns were often noted for their friendlier view of the civilian world than the Kiriguns, but he didn't think they'd take that well.

Courtesy was foremost. He searched for words that he could offer without sounding too deferential, or worse pitying. "I'm happy to let him return with you now Pillar, health and rest are the priority of course. We can wait a few days for the questioning. There are good child counselors that we've worked with before that I'd like to recommend -"

"That won't be necessary, Deputy Commissioner. I'll speak to the detective on his behalf."

"Ah," Wirat paused, folding his hands. "That's not our standard procedure to be honest, Pillar. We prefer to speak directly to the witnesses, especially if - as if the case here - they are the only one we have. But I understand the sensitive circumstances and your concern, given the boy's age and what he's had to go through. I'll see to it that it's allowed."

"Allow what you want." The Pillar's voice was like a rough slab, and Wirat, a man who was not quite a stone-eye but not so sensitive to the effects of jade either, felt it then: a growing rippling pressure on his chest. A _force_ , as if the blood under his skin was a pool and a stone had dropped in it to reverberate around his bones. It was not the first time he'd experienced this - he'd never been in a jade fight, of course, but he'd been in the vicinity of a few, and they were hard to forget - but it took some effort to keep a reaction from his face as the Pillar continued, 

"Investigate as much as you like; it will be with our full cooperation, I can promise you that now. We'll even send you men to help. But you will *not* speak, touch, or demand _anything_ of my son, is that clear?"

". . . I understand," Wirat murmured, after a beat. Not unexpected, that the clan head would be protective of his only son and heir. "It's just - without a direct witness, this investigation will take longer, Pillar."

"So it shall," the man replied. "But I will say this: there was a murder tonight, Commissioner, and I assure you, it will not be one that lies on the books, waiting for little bags of evidence and trials to be put to rest." Now he glanced at the man at his side. A flash of green: a stud earring, the only visible jade on him. "Justice will be met. And we have our guesses."

"And we have our laws," Wirat said quietly.

"So you do," the Pillar said, and for the first time Wirat saw the silver shade of a smile that was usually on the carefully-manicured images of the clan head in the media. He was a surprisingly slight man, not conventionally handsome, but there was something to the gleam in those eyes, like he had a good draw in his poker hand but he might not play it. A charismatic businessman, was how they styled him; so unlike that savage gangster, Chakrii Kirigun.

There was no more to say. This was not a stand-off the police had won in his lifetime, perhaps ever. Wirat turned to the filing cabinet behind him, pulling the keys from his pocket. "I have your things here, son -"

"Gup." 

"That's -" Wirat stopped. Turned around. "Did you say something?"

"Gup." This time the boy's voice was clearer. "My name is Gup."

"I . . . right," Wirat said. He gave what he hoped was a kind if awkward smile to the young boy, who was finally looking up at Wirat, if more at chest-level than his eyes. Wirat had an odd sense that he was avoiding looking at his father. "How are you feeling, Gup?"

". . . Fine." The boy's eyes slid off to the red bookbag Wirat was now holding in his hand, at the patch of cheery sunflowers stitched on the front. There was a brief hesitation before he seemed to come to some decision, because the intake of breath was audible and the next words came out in a rush: 

"I want to give a statement."

"No," the Pillar said. Now he finally moved to stand by his son, placing a hand on his shoulder, one that Gup neither shied away from nor leaned into. "You've been through enough today. Let's get you back home -"

"I can give it." The voice was small, but steady. "I saw their faces, dad. I can give it."

"I won't let - " The Pillar seemed to see something in the boy's face that made him stop. He sighed, but the frown on his face didn't lessen.

Wirat took the lull as a chance to step in. "Are you sure, Gup? It's okay if you're not feeling up to it right now. You don't need to do this." It wasn't just that the boy was the Pillar's son and had such a painfully young face that Wirat felt the need to be protective. The background briefing he'd been given - and corroborated by what he'd seen tonight - had described the boy as sensitive: quiet, well-behaved, a good student, but shy. The type that didn't have many friends. 

The type that only had his mother.

"The Commissioner's right," the Pillar grunted.

Wirat looked at him, looked at the men flanking him, and would think later: it was no easy feat, denying this room. Grown men did not deny this room. Decorated officers did not deny this room.

Shaky eyes dragged up, with effort, to his. 

"Yes. I'm ready."

 _But a little mouse would_ , Wirat thought.

********

Twelve hours later, the Deputy Commissioner was in a very different sector of the city, and none of the familiar riot of the traffic and the lazy, sticky mood of Bangkok at the peak of hot season could drown out the adrenaline humming in his ears.

Three squads of twenty men each were arrayed outside, but he had come in alone; he had not, in truth, made out whether he'd expected resistance by the time they pulled up to the steel compound gates, but there were two men in full black suits and a nondescript black-tinted sedan standing in front and they nodded as if expecting him. "Only you," one of them said, and Wirat noted the lack of a wai - but he nodded his assent and was curtly taken by the arm. They did not search him or demand his gun, but he supposed that did not matter. 

The men he was looking for were already in the courtyard. 

So was the Naga Pillar, Chakrii Kirigun.

"- and your brother," he was saying. Not even a flick of a glance was given to Wirat at his silent entrance. Wirat looked at the scene and measured its dimensions instantly: he had walked into a scene, but it was one that was reaching, or had already reached, a conclusion. That was the Pillar, and the rest of his leadership there, the Horn that led the fighting in the streets and the Weather Man that managed the business side, as well as a much younger man - a teenager, really, tall and youthful-looking - that Wirat recognized as the Pillar's son and heir as well as several other high-ranking lieutenants. The man who he was looking for, the Pillar's right-hand - Channarong Nantakarn, he who was the Pillarman - stood straight and stiff-backed like an old ironwood facing them. 

There was sweat visible on the back of their crisp white dress shirts; that was how he'd concluded they had not just come outside, but must have been standing out here in the sun for at least a while. But no expression to make out, none on any of them. Everything was too neat and orderly to suggest a fight, but the moment he crossed over the threshold the oppressive noonday heat felt suddenly tight, as the courtyard had been sucked of condensation.

"Father." 

The son's voice was quiet but not soft. It seemed to be a surprise that he spoke because Wirat saw several of the other men stir at the sound of his voice. "If I may speak, I respectfully disagree here. We're making a mistake."

The Kirigun patriarch's face didn't change; the glance that he deigned to give his son was so severe Wirat could feel the ax-blow at a distance. He was a large, powerfully-built Alpha who wore his jade openly - whole studded arm braces, the imprint of a hard vest beneath the shirt, two talon knives strapped to a holster - with a reputation that was well-known: not a pleasant man was Chakrii Kirigun, even for a Pillar. They were the Naga clan, a dragon clan, and they called him Wolf. 

"These are not matters I seek council in."

"No," the son said, and Wirat remembered that his name was Suppasit - Mew Suppasit. "But if we can't at least state our disagreement out loud, it'll fester like a wound left in the sun. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way here."

Wirat remembered the name because it had been appearing so often on the casualty reports in the last year, a scrawl in the notes for the likely members of the party on the other side. Seeing the name matched to a face was disorienting: the blurry photo in the database, taken quickly and from a distance, made him look older. Even with that Alpha height and lean build, the fact that this boy - this boy _with a kill count_ , the kind that made him one of the Naga's most formidable frontline fighters - was only 19 was clearer, and more confronting in real life. 

"The Pillarman was raised in the dragon's den," Kirigun said, coolly. "And helped guard it for over fifty years. Many of us have grown up in the shade of the same spirit house. I would be more disappointed if none of you felt any discontent with what must be done."

"Must? Father, that's what I take issue with. We're giving up our own Pillarman and for what? Phawattakun isn't going to entertain a peace treaty, he never was -"

"That is a bold stance," Kirigun said. "Calling a Pillar a liar."

The smallest flinch, but the boy pressed on, voice rising in urgency. "He certainly isn't going to consider it now that we've killed his wife. The truce is dead, we have to accept that. We can't base our decisions off of something that won't -"

"We? Four men killed the woman, acting with no authority, no right. They are no longer part of this clan."

"You know what I mean," the boy said readily. "We can say Pillarman Nantakarn and the others acted of their own accord, but their Pillar will never believe it. And he'll never forgive us. That was _his wife_ -"

"Do you think that's how Pillars make their decisions, boy? Personal feelings and personal grievance?"

"I think," the boy said, slowly, "That you wouldn't know how Pillar Phawattakun feels. Not about decision-making, but about his wife."

That set off a soft susurrus of murmurs in the courtyard. The young man's voice was quiet but the anger in it was a bright blade, whiter than the Bangkok sun. The challenge in it was too unsheathed to ignore.

Wirat sensed that this _Mew Suppasit_ was walking a dangerous border, coming too close to a territory that if spoken of, was only in whispers. That was a surprise - Alpha youths were notoriously hot-headed, but Wirat hadn't expected the Kirigun heir with those handsome, pretty-boy looks to be so openly defiant, not with his father's reputation regarding discipline and tolerance for dissent. And yet it looked . . . it looked like not all the eyes in the courtyard regarding him were fearful. Some seemed openly admiring.

A dangerous situation, indeed.

But it was another voice that broke the tension. "Mew," Pillarman Nantakarn said. 

Like a school of fish, attention swiveled as one to the new voice. The Pillarman sighed, and his body seemed to unfreeze, become human. "Mew, your loyalty is noted and cherished. I want you to know that. But the Pillar has already made his decision, and it is one that, even if I could disobey, I would not. Please understand I made my choices with that understanding."

"I -" The boy's face moved. "No, I -"

"I've done many things in my life, some I'm more proud of than others. I've seen this clan go through some good times and some bad ones, but I don't regret the latter. Indeed, I can't help but believe it is the hard years that make good men." He paused. "Watching you grow up from a little boy to a fine young man has been my privilege. I am proud to have called you my student."

The boy fell silent, looked away. _Student_ , Wirat thought. So this man was his mentor. And he was being handed over to their enemies, to face his execution there.

 _Yes_ , Wirat thought. _The bad blood here runs deep._ If the Phawattakuns would never forget about the killing of Kwanjai Phawattakun, the next in line to the Kirigun name was not likely to forget either.

"Besides," the Pillarman said. "It seems like law enforcement themselves are here. It's not only No Cloud who've concluded there's a blood debt to be paid. So let us pay it and have done."

"I can't . . . it's the way it feels like just another trade. One life for the other, a Pillarman for a Pillar's wife, clear the scales, right? They didn't even offer a duel, just set their price and expected us to pay it. But they're not businessmen, we're not businessmen, and _this isn't a goddamn deal_ -"

" _Mew_ ," the Pillar snapped. 

"We're _at war_ _here_ , and those cowards suddenly discover honor when it benefits them -"

"Honor? A 19-year-old _boy_ dares to lecture thousand-year-old clans on honor, as if -"

" _Sir_." 

It was the way the air had been rising that made Wirat speak: that same pressure again, the invisible hand on his chest, the push that was impossible to see but felt to the bone and not quite natural. That was green energy, jade energy, rising here, in a cauldron of probably a dozen of the most dangerous jade fighters in Bangkok, and Wirat had no idea what to do. 

He looked at the two men, and made a split decision. 

"Khun Suppasit," he said, picking the son. The one kicking at the line, yes, but - maybe it was the fact he was younger, less intimidating. Or maybe it was the way he couldn't let this man, his mentor go. Wirat had no pity for murderers but there was something wretched and human about it.

"I apologize for my interjection," he said. "The RTP recognizes it has no say in these affairs, and indeed I only came in with the hopes of questioning the four men you've already named. But I want to say that even if the public justice is powerless here, that does not mean the public has no stake. Right now, there are children being pulled from their schools because their parents fear to let them out on the streets. There are shopkeepers shuttering their doors who can ill afford it. Bangkok is a brave city, a gritty city; if the war goes on she'll endure it. But she's already endured much."

He let the silence sit a moment. The Pillar was regarding him with flat, dispassionate eyes that said nothing. The boy had turned sharply towards him. His mouth moved like he wanted to speak, but closed again.

Wirat searched for the man in the boy's gaze. If Suppasit was like his father, he would be too proud to back down, and this moment was already lost. But it was about more than the moment, in truth. Wirat had a son his age, only a few years younger, and in recent years Wirat had been becoming more reflective, seeing his career less and less as a series of cases to solve and more and more as a small drop in the great river, inconsequential yet without which some longtail boat might one day drift its course. That was what fatherhood made you: one eye rooted here, captivated by the day-to-day joys of seeing your son grow up, and the other gazing fearfully at the years to come. Yesterday he had met Phawattakun's son, and now Kirigun's, and even if there were years between these boys and they had never met he could see the shadow that already hung between them, the thread that could not be cut. 

Nothing that happened here was going to change that. But like a ripple in the Chao Phraya, he thought, some decisions had a way of only being felt miles away, or years down the line. 

He spoke.

"There are seasons that will make a man, and seconds that will break you. You're a very young man, Khun Suppasit. Don't let this be your second." 

The boy's gaze jerked, then looked away. But the words had reached him. As Wirat watched, he made a small, terse wai in the direction of the Pillarman and the three other condemned men, then stepped back, stiff as a soldier, and said nothing as they were led away. 

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This prologue was from an OC's POV, but I promise that will be rare, just when I need a POV that's not an attractive young man in a BL drama XD There will definitely be original minor characters and villains running around but the main characters are very much MewGulf with a whole host of BL actors (BrightWin, SaintZee, MaxTul etc).  
> \- Yup, Gulf's original name was Gup (see https://asiancrazz.blogspot.com/2019/03/gulf-kanawut-traipipattanapong-profile.html). I'm not sure when he changed it in real life but don't worry, it's Gulf from here on out.  
> \- This won't be important for a very, very long time but just as a little easter egg - can you guess who the Deputy Commissioner's son is? :)  
> \- Yes I made these covers, my photo-editing skills are super minimal at best so please go easy on me hahaha


	2. Old Friends and New Worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 2020, the Pillar is dead, the streets are safe, Alphas and Os can be friends, Gulf is just another college student, Bright Vachirawit is sulky. What else is new?
> 
> Besides too much work all around, that is. Bangkok never sleeps and neither, apparently, does its new Pillar. 
> 
> Rule number one: never steal from the clan.
> 
> Rule number two: blood never, ever leaves you.

_The Thai Rath_

_— November 16, 2019_

_Nation Mourns Death of Naga Pillar_

_BANGKOK, TH., — The funeral for Chakrii Kirigun, 22nd Pillar of the Naga Clan, was held today in a private ceremony at what is believed to be an ancestral temple north of Bangkok. The distinguished Pillar, celebrated at the end of his life, was not without his controversies in his earlier years: known for his hardline stance on clan reform and avowed support for what he proclaimed "the necessary revival in traditionalist values", he became most famous for being one of the first two Pillars in seven generations to negotiate a successful peace. The treaty that was signed ten years ago at Wat Phra Kaew, known as the Agreement of the Six Seeds, has held to this day._

_He is succeeded by his son, Mew Suppasit Kirigun, 29 years of age._

_He will be the youngest Pillar in a century._

********

Tul Perceived the man before he heard him.

Closing his eyes, he let his body shift into the third stance, relaxed and open as an untouched bowl of water. In truth, he'd hoped to get more time to himself this morning; it was a looser schedule than he usually had as Horn, but even his lightest days started at sunrise and the only chance he had to come here was in the waking hours before the compound began to stir. Tul wasn't a morning person by nature and 6am was harsh on a man still used to the late nights of his early twenties, but he'd come to appreciate the alone time: it was a rare gift of solitude to an introvert who now spent most of his hours around other men.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to sweep his mind clear like temple steps, centering the jade energy in his core before redirecting it to his arm and letting loose the quick Deflection — a tight, arcing pulse of energy that hit the nearest column of speed bags, setting off a jangling metallic racket as they spasmed in their chains. The Deflection cleaved through most of the entire zigzagged column, coming perilously close to knocking a few off their chains, but Tul was disappointed. He'd been aiming for precision, not strength, and several of the speed bags in the other rows had been caught in the arc. 

Disappointing, but not surprising. Tul was a worrier by nature, and there was a lot on his mind right now, enough that most of his usual meditation hour was spent picking up and discarding un-useful thoughts. It wasn't that he hated becoming Horn — they'd raised that specter long before he'd even graduated academy, knowing that Mew would have to hang up Horn for Pillar someday — but no one had expected it to happen so soon, or so suddenly. One day Tul was Mew's oldest friend and best mate, a good fighter but not so outstanding they'd fast-track him into leadership, and the next he was given command of the entire military arm of the Naga clan at 27, leading Fists and Fingers twice his age.

Intimidating was a word for it. Many of the younger men knew him from school days and his oversight of the academy, but the older ones didn't. Loyal as they were, no pack of Alphas took easily to dictated rank, whether the kind stamped on a diploma or signed in a letter; that was something earned, intangible, unwritten. Respect.

Tul had pushed himself like a demon these last six months, but in truth if the demands on Mew didn't put his own to shame he'd go to him with his doubts and ask him to reconsider. "I need one of my own there," was all the new Pillar had said, eyes dark and steady somehow despite his lack of sleep, and that was enough for Tul to swallow his protest.

Then there was the other man. 

Tul sighed, touching the training band he'd slid on his wrist by habit, or maybe superstition. The leap that came from behind he Perceived more than saw as a blur in his periphery, it came so fast. A quick, dodging step back — a lunge to hook the assailant's knee — a grab of the tank-top strap in the same motion, a single violent twist to wrench him to the ground.

Which was exactly what Max wanted, of course. Tul found himself looking up at bare wood rafters the next second, coming down hard, an iron vise of a grip on his ankle yanking him up and off the ground. The moment he hit the floor Max moved to pin his wrists (seriously, so _predictable_ ), but Tul recovered quickly — with a burst of Strength, he jerked his hips up and arms down, shoving the larger man forward and off him. Max left out a half-chuckle, half-yelp as Tul jumped on him, flinging a powerful arm around Tul's waist to try to roll over and pin him back to the floor with his sheer weight, but that was fine: Tul was the better grappler in raw terms — no jade — and the rear naked choke he slipped into had the satisfying effect of pressing the warm plane of hard muscle to his chest and, well, making the other Alpha yelp. 

"No fair, phi." Tul felt the hot tickle of breath on his arm, the low chuckle in it. "Using Strength on me at six in the morning? What do I look, alive?"

"Not for long," Tul said.

Max laughed and grinded down a little, which Tul refused to acknowledge with a grunt.

"Phi is a meanie," his junior pretended to whine. "Here I was, dragging my ass up at ass o'clock to surprise you . . ."

"Surprise? You wear so much jade my grandma in Nonthaburi could feel you stomping around like an elephant." Tul was better at Perception than most, but Max also wore so much jade he was like a green dot on a radar, easy to sense as the only aura moving with the rest of the compound asleep. That was one of those things that was disadvantageous to a fighter in Tul's opinion — why he didn't do as many piercings as most, just the ear studs, better to carry jade you could take on and off easily — but you couldn't separate most men from their green. Not on the Horn side. 

He felt the row of piercings along Max's shoulderblade dig into him now as the man pressed himself up against him like a long, luxurious cat. A cat the size of a tiger. So close, it was like actually touching it, an armada's worth of jade that plunged his senses in and out of water: the world sharper and clearer at one second, too bright and nauseating the next. 

Max hummed. 

"Phi, it's too early to bicker. I say we go back to bed and continue this convo there."

"As if." Tul used his free hand to shove at the disheveled black crow's nest of hair. "It's past six by now and I haven't showered yet. Pillar wants to hear an update on the yaba bust and I'm planning on filling him in at breakfast." 

"Oh?" He felt the other Alpha cock his head back — well, as much as he could in Tul's chokehold. "Yeah, that's what I was going to tell you! He said he has to head out this morning for a meeting with some American investors, then his usual place. Said he didn't need us and he'll be back by noon for the lunch with the senator. So it looks like _we_ have some free time . . . "

"Another meeting?" Tul frowned. Mew was already overbooked, and he'd had another late night; Tul had been hoping the man could finally sleep in a little this morning. _No rest for the Pillar_ , it seemed.

" _Shai_. I don't know how he does it." Max yawned. "I feel beat. Nearly cracked my head rolling off the bed this morning."

"That's your own fault for staying out late last night." Alphas didn't have the greatest noses, but Tul could smell the whiff of alcohol in Max's tank top.

"Oi! We busted a whole meth den, that was hard work! Just grabbing a round to celebrate cleaning up the streets of criminals and lowlifes, y'know."

"Yeah, and 'a' round turned into six or seven I bet."

"Ha! Jealous? Phi should come out with us next time."

"My fantasy," Tul said dryly, finally releasing his arm to start getting to his feet. "Vomiting in front of my subordinates. No thanks - more like I should be fining you all for raising our health insurance. None of those livers are seeing their forties."

Max sat up on his elbows but didn't get up, looking up at Tul with a slanted toothy grin that Tul only knew too well. For all his avowed sleepiness, his First Fist certainly didn't look too tired. His eyes sauntered down Tul's body with the nonchalance of a man out on his morning stroll. "We should spar. Not here though. I mean, unless phi _wants_ to . . ."

"Why do I feel like you and I are thinking of different things for _spar_?" Tul groused, but helped pull the man to his feet. 

Maybe he _did_ need a relaxer though, Tul thought. He didn't want to let Max think he condoned any of the partying, but Tul _was_ kinda developing a reputation for being a little clean-edged, a little uptight for a Horn. More than the previous one, at least. Horns were usually the rough sort and Mew with his kind of understated princeliness certainly hadn't been, but he had a way with people Tul didn't have naturally, so Tul had to calibrate more manually, squint and judge whether he needed to tighten or slacken. Of course, "slacking" _really_ shouldn't mean "sleeping with your best-friend-slash-subordinate-slash-fellow-Alpha", but . . . add that onto the worries pile. 

Get it out of his system, then talk to Mew about the Phahurat _yaba_ bust on the way to lunch. Right. There'd been a rash of the meth drug this summer, a stronger strain than usual, probably smugglers from Malaysia emboldened by the upheaval from the transition in clan leadership. It annoyed him, because last night was just another drug bust of the sort that Max ate up for fun, who was Tul to worry about probably the best fighter in the clan after the Pillar himself — but Tul _was_ relieved. Just a little.

"Dunno what you're talking about krub," Max said cheerfully. "Usually _I'm_ the one strangling you though — ow!"

 _On second thought_ , Tul thought, _maybe I *should* fine him. How much are babysitters' fees these days?_

********

The sweat-soaked bangs ran in Boun's eyes.

It burned. He had to wipe his face with the back of one clammy hand, the other still tugging at the wrist of the boy behind him. Thin, too thin, the wrist was a painfully tiny thing in Boun's grip and every stumbling gasp knocked something loose in his chest, like the neverending din of the construction around them. But he couldn't let up now. They had to get to the bike, had to get out of here.

They were dead if they were caught.

It'd started out okay. The info was good, he knew that — Lefty he'd worked with before, had a solid reputation in the slums as not a stiffer. He'd been clear about the risk upfront, and that was the only reason Boun had ever agreed to it: "You'll be lucky if it's just your finger they take," he'd grunted. Then leveled a fish-eyed glare at them. "So don't get caught."

Lefty had no right hand, and Boun did not care to ask why. But they had no choice. Prem's fever had finally broke last night but his infection wasn't getting any better, and there was barely any money left for this month's rent much less the transfusion he needed badly. Lefty was offering serious cash, more than Boun could make lifting farang wallets in Patpong for weeks. More than any of them had ever been offered for a single job.

Then again, none of those had been about lifting _jade_ before.

The small pouch felt like a hard clump in his shirt pocket, a dense weight that felt more palpable than it should be, like it was throbbing against his chest. That was psychological, Boun knew — he was a stone-eye, one of those cursed to be born deaf to jade. That meant he couldn't wield it, meant that he was less than a dog in some corners of snobby old Bangkok, but also meant that he wasn't sensitive to its pull either. Which could be useful sometimes, the only reason why Lefty had tapped him up — less likely to swipe it for himself.

An aborted gasp cut the air behind him, and Boun suddenly felt his grip yanked away. He whirled around and saw that Prem had stumbled. The small boy was on the ground with his head bowed low, hair clumped wet all over his flushed cheeks, gulping in air in huge wretched gasps. Boun's vision, sharp with the kind of clarity that only fear can give you, swam for an instant before he recovered.

"This way," he snapped. The words came out harsh to his own ears. "We need to keep going Prem, _come on_!"

They were at the riverbank now, still far from where he'd stashed the bike but once they hit the dense Yaowarat alleys Boun could map in his sleep they could travel slower, crawl their way through. These clan types weren't the type to be willing to wade through the mucky places. Boun wasn't sure if they'd lost them yet, but he didn't want to take chances. 

That was what had messed up. The info was good, the mark — some No Cloud low-rank who'd picked up a habit of drinking himself to oblivion in one of Patpong's dodgy girly bars, and the bad luck for someone to notice — had indeed been there, and buried in a less than capacitated state in some yawning girl's boobs. Sliding next to him, distracting the girl, lifting the bracelet was easy-peasy. Boun had even made it out to the next _soi_ just fine, calm as he could with his pulse hammering in his throat.

And then Prem had burst around the corner, whispering wild-eyed something about spotting three grim-faced No Cloud men on the next block, even though there wasn't _supposed_ to be a patrol there at this hour, but wasn't that just their kind of luck? Boun vaguely remembered something about how those people could sense jade like they had a damn radar in their head for these things. _Freaks_. But they were coming after him and Prem now, and worse, coming from the direction of the escape route they'd planned so carefully earlier. No way to get to the bike quick.

No choice. They ran. 

Boun made it about 100 feet when he realized they couldn't take the straight way north to it, not with Prem like this. No, it had to be the river, even if it was the longer way round.

He switched them to Naga territory.

Now they were cutting across the lawn of one of those fancy hotels by the river, one of the Western-styled ones with rows of elegant palm trees and manicured shrubs and attendants who wore uniforms that probably cost more than their group-house's food for the month. Not exactly their usual haunt, this. The thick scent of the river — basil, fish, something foul and mucky in the heat — intermingled with the fragrance of damp jasmine to fill his mouth and he reached out an arm to signal _slow down_ , walk quick instead of run. They stood out already in their cheap shirts and cargo shorts. This was one of those suit-and-tie places, rich people places, the kind who probably wouldn't drag them out by their collars but who'd hold their nose while their servants did. 

Luckily, even at lunch hour it was quiet, probably because of the heat. There were only a few tables with people in the open-air terrace out back and Boun and Prem made quick headway through the lane by the riverside, not looking at them. They'd almost made it to the next hotel when Boun heard a sharp breath, a whoosh of air — 

— and felt a yank on his shoulder, so violent that for a shocked second he thought it'd been torn off. Instead he whirled around, and slammed straight into a broad, black form that was like hitting concrete: someone's chest. 

"You — you _leapt_ — " 

Dazed, Prem's babbling ringing in his ears, Boun tried to push himself off, take a step back. The punch to his jaw came out of nowhere and crumpled him to his knees with a pained grunt, eyes folding in the back of his head. Fuck — that was — 

" _No_ , _please_ — "

"Honestly," a new voice said. The stranger who'd decked him, in a drawl that sounded bizarrely cheerful. "Can't a man even eat around here without dealing with rats? You lot _are_ getting bolder na."

Boun forced his head up and saw a brawny, young-looking guy that looked straight out of an old Hong Kong gangster film. Elaborate green tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves of a pink open-collar shirt, which were straining with the effort of restraining arms that were bigger than Boun's goddamn head. A large, wicked-looking knife hung on the belt. Sleek black eyes met Boun's, and the mouth curled up in a grin with an easy, shark-like handsomeness that Boun instinctively hated. Alpha, obviously. The kind that always looked down on betas like him and Prem. Not good enough to fight like a man, but good enough to kick like a dog. 

Then he saw the shimmer where the collar was open: a beaded line of small green stones, embedded in the skin of the collarbone like a gruesome necklace.

Fuck.

"We can explain. Please," Prem was practically whimpering now, folding to his knees by Boun and bobbing up and down in a wai as if these assholes would listen. 

"Don't you know that stealing is a crime?" The man reached out and plucked the pouch from Boun's shirt pocket as if he could see through it, had known it was there all along. He patted Boun's pocket closed like a friendly pat on the back, and whistled as he poked open the pouch with one finger and glanced inside. "So whose dumb ass got his green swiped? Hope it wasn't one of ours."

It wasn't going to save them, but Boun answered anyways. "It was No Cloud. One of their new Fingers. He was drunk."

"Hmm, that's fun. I do like hearing how our rivals suck." 

Prem seized on that with a burst of eagerness that hid his exhaustion, but Boun knew his sick nong was barely keeping upright. "Um. Please. We'd be — we'd be happy to give it to you krub. All of it, take anything you want. Just please, please let us go."

"That's nice," the man said thoughtfully. "But didn't I just say that stealing is a crime?" He scratched his chin. "Unless you're implying that the clans steal. That's a harsh thing to say, I'm kinda hurt to be honest — "

"Max." 

Two other men were coming up towards them from the restaurant. Tall, fit, and fancy-looking in their crisp white dress shirts and dark tailored pants, both looked like businessmen strolling off a boat. One of them was so good-looking he had the unreal pretty-boy looks and styled hair of a Korean boyband member, the kind you saw on billboards in the malls in Siam. No expression was on that handsome face as he regarded them with his hands in his pockets. The other one, a tanner man with a boyish open face, had a frown on it as he looked at the man who'd apprehended them. 

"Max. What's going on?"

"Just a pair of jade thieves," the man — Max — said. He shrugged. "Swiped some No Cloud idiot's band when he was out cold, probably ran out here thinking we'd mind less." 

"That wasn't it," Boun muttered, though that was it. He took a breath, tried to shove aside the shakiness in it. The part of him wanted to just shut up and take what was coming like a man warred with a weird desire to explain himself, because it wasn't like this _was_ them, like they were two dumbass kids who'd just arrived in Bangkok and didn't know their asses from their elbows. "Look, we didn't mean to cause trouble. We're stupid as fuck, we know that. But — we needed the money. Bad."

"That's what they all say, kid," Max said cheerfully. He dropped down suddenly into a crouch, eye-level to Boun. "Sucks you two interrupted lunch though. Let's take care of it quick and get back, ol' Wattanakul is probably complaining about taxes to his lobster by now." 

Beside Boun, Prem whimpered and pressed closer, his fingers warm and sticky on Boun's bare arm. Boun felt his rabbit heartbeat against his side.

"I'm in a good mood, so I'll let the both of you pick a finger."

The flash of fear almost blanked him, wiped out all thought for a second. But then there was Prem's quiet little cry, and Boun heard himself open his mouth and say,

"Wait. Prem's got nothing to do with this." Swallow. "I did all of it. If you're going to punish anyone, just — punish me. Double if you want to."

The other man cocked his head, considering. "So, two fingers?"

". . . Y-Yeah."

"Alright," The man shrugged, at the same time that Prem cried out in horror, but Boun pushed him behind with one arm and leaned forward, setting his body between them. 

"So pick two then, kid —"

"Wait." 

Boun glanced up, and saw that the handsome, pretty-boy one with his hands in his pockets had spoken. Quietly, but there was an authoritative metal to it; the single word made Max stop instantly, pausing the hand that'd been reaching for his knife. 

So even wolves had their masters. 

Boun felt a sudden surge of hatred lance through his guts. These people looked all elegant and cultured in their suits like they dined in fancy Western restaurants and lived in mansions Boun couldn't even dream of, but weren't they just gangsters all the same? What made these people so much better than him and Prem and all the other kids in the slums anyways? Wasn't it just jade, just the luck to be born with the gift of being able to wield it? All that mumbo-jumbo about honor and training and the dangers of wearing jade without it — that was just their way of keeping it from the clutches of grimy hands like theirs. People that didn't deserve it. 

They'd let Prem die without a care. Worth less than a dog, because at least you'd put a dog out of its misery.

Boun and the man exchanged gazes for a long moment, Boun stubbornly matching his eyes while something beat a seething drum inside. Then the man's face broke first: a small smile quirked up at the edge of his mouth. 

"What's your name?"

". . . Boun. And that's Prem." Fuck, he hadn't wanted to give them anything, least of all their names. 

"Boun," the man echoed, making the name sound almost sophisticated. "And Prem. Why did you two steal the jade? There are easier ways to make a bit of coin around here, even if in the same line of work."

Stealing, he meant. Boun didn't want to talk, but it was like the man had knocked on some door and was standing out there waiting and you had to come to it if only to glare at him to go away. "We needed a lot of money, and fast. Prem's got this thing called thalassemia, it's a blood disorder and he's been needing a blood transfusion for months now but we haven't got the money. He got an infection a week ago that's made it worse. If we don't get to the hospital . . ."

"I see," the man said. "Who offered you the money?"

Boun's mouth twisted. "Dude named Lefty, he's well-known enough around the docks. But he doesn't usually offer these kinds of jobs. First I've heard of one, at least."

"If I can interject, Pillar." That was the boyish-looking tanned one, the one with the frown that had become more of a pensive expression as his gaze flicked back and forth between them. "Let's not do anything unusual here, if you're getting any ideas. Just let Max take care of it. You know what they think already — "

"Of course. They never shut up," the man said, dryly. 

Then he said something else, but Boun's mind was reeling, snagged on one word.

 _Pillar._ Was that — ?

". . . offer you a job," said the man, the man who might be _the freaking Pillar of the Naga clan_. He finally took his hands out and Boun realized, dizzily, that there was a whole array of rings there on every finger, dark green and inlaid in silver, the ones they said the Pillar wore. The powerful forearms were sheathed in a pair of armbands that looked understated in their simple pewter but were clearly seething with jade.

 _Fuck_. 

Just — slice his neck now. This couldn't be real. Couldn't be a dream either, because no sick nightmare of his could've conjured up that somehow, one day, his street rat self might run into _the Pillar_.

What was he supposed to do now? Kowtow? Crawl on his knees?

 _Freeze_ , was what his body decided.

Said Pillar didn't seem to care. He gave a curt nod to Prem, who must've seen but was fading too rapidly at this point to do anything but struggle to lift his head. "I'm making you a job offer, Boun. In exchange, I'll cover your friend's hospital costs, on top of additional tips. We'll start with — let's say, a trial period of a month."

"Hold on." The words come slowly out of Boun's mouth, cotton-ball fuzzy. "What. What the hell are you saying."

Clans didn't _deal_ with street rats like them, maybe paid for info sometimes like the cops did but that was it. They certainly didn't deal with stone-eyes. There was a kind of superstitiousness about them, like it was a disease that could rub off on their children. And paying enough to cover Prem, maybe that was nothing for a fancy clansman but it was still _no-joke_ kinda money, what _were_ these people — 

"It's not dangerous. I swear," the Pillar said, smiling now.

"And it won't be much of your time." He glanced at his watch as if just reminded about it, the silver flashing for a second like a fishscale in the sun. "I do have one question though."

Boun forced himself to swallow.

"What." 

"Do you have a bike?"

*******

It was the juice bottle that nearly did him.

Yelping, he flailed for a second on the steps before managing to blindly grab onto the wood patio handrail to steady himself. The deck chair's arm dug into his chest and he had to pause for a second to catch a breath before lugging it over to the stack that he was building up in the corner, plopping it on top with a whew of relief.

Elegant, Gulf Kanawut was not.

But gosh, at least he was nearly done now. He surveyed the rest of the patio as he pushed his bangs back and wiped his brow with the handkerchief tucked in the front of his apron. Only a few more tables left, and then he could get started wiping down the fridge, which would be nice and cool and a welcome relief from the heat. Luckily it wasn't as humid as it was yesterday, but hauling around tables and chairs and sweeping down most of the cafe on his own . . . aow, that was a workout. 

If his sore arms were any reminder. He rubbed a shoulder and made a face. That wouldn't be fun later. 

The quiet was nice though. He hummed a little happily as he started stacking the green and pink chairs into color-coded stacks of four, brushing the ferns hanging overhead to check if they needed watering. It'd been a long day. The cafe was nestled in a quiet leafy street on the border of On Nut and Ekkamai and mostly relied on a steady stream of locals and college students, but some international convention was in town and there were always a few adventurous businessmen looking to pass on the usual Silom haunts in favor of the less-traveled nooks of the city. That was a little rough on Gulf to be honest, especially with P'Mild's sprained arm not leaving him much room to help, but he'd ended up a little proud of himself — he'd managed okay, they'd left a lot of tips, and even the Alpha ones hadn't been too bad. 

Some of them had stared at him, yeah, and sometimes those he wished would just come out and ask him — _are you really an Omega, you don't see those too often huh_ — but Gulf had just kept quietly ducking his head and moving on to the next table. The fresh coffee smell and flowers stashed everywhere diluted a lot of his scent, and Gulf was tall, taller even than a lot of betas; unless you studied him closely, you couldn't really tell. At least that's what Gulf told himself.

That one man though . . .

"Nong!"

Gulf whirled around. A familiar head was poking out of the back door, grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Nong, your friend's here. Says he's picking you up for practice?"

"Oh!" Shoot, Gulf had been so busy he hadn't had time to check his texts; he'd totally forgotten the practice match had switched from Thursday this week. Now he hesitated. 

"P'Mild, I'm very sorry krub. There's still a lot to clean up, I can ask him to wait —"

"Nooo! Absolutely not! Put that down, N'Gulf!" P'Mild flapped one hand at him, the good one that wasn't in a sling. "I already feel like the worst boss making you do all this work while I mope at the register all day. You're way past your hours already, let me handle the rest okay?" 

"Only a few minutes," Gulf protested weakly, but his manager was already shooing him towards the door, clucking like a mother hen all the way. 

P'Mild had a flair for the dramatic, but Gulf liked him. Liked him a lot. The diminutive beta rolled up his sleeves and dug in much more than any boss Gulf had ever worked with, trying his best to help out on the floor while bustling around the kitchen and register at the same time. He was the opposite of Gulf — funny and extroverted, constantly tugging him over to show him memes and tiktoks on his phone — but it wasn't irritating for some reason. Not everyone accepted Omegas in the workplace, but P'Mild embraced him enthusiastically, had even gotten Gulf to open up a lot. In some ways, after a year of working under him Gulf almost thought of him as a friend. 

_Friend_. He didn't know how you'd define that though. And he definitely didn't want to presume. P'Mild was nice, but . . . history informed Gulf that people weren't really into him that way. 

He spotted the tall, casual form leaning against the entryway and thumbing through his phone when they made their way out front. 

"You! Sawadee krub . . . nong's _friend_." P'Mild's voice dropped conspiratorially as he threw Gulf a blatant wink. "I found nong out back. So glad to see you again by the way, you should come over more often! How do you get handsomer every time I see you?"

Bright Vachirawit glanced up. True to his reputation, a curl of exotically-brown hair fell on one eye in a way that most people called devastatingly handsome, in a bad-boy kind of way. In his slouchy gunmetal-grey Scrubb t-shirt and jeans he didn't look like the dust or heat had touched him, though he must've come straight from class; he had his bike helmet with him, a red shape tucked under one arm. 

The running joke was that Bright was so good-looking he single-handedly brought in customers — girls mysteriously seemed to appear in giggling droves whenever he came by during day hours — though Gulf privately thought that was just an excuse for P'Mild to squeal over his friend.

"Thanks for coming krub. Sorry for missing your text, I completely forgot about practice. Mind giving me just a minute? I just need to get changed and wash my face."

Bright gave a short nod and went back to scrolling his phone, which was a solid yes in Bright-speak, so Gulf picked his way out back with P'Mild's barely-contained squeals trailing him. 

"Aren't you too old to be a fangirl phi." Gulf looked back with a small smile as he started tugging off his apron. He was comfortable enough to tease P'Mild now; or rather, P'Mild was the sort of person that just invited teasing.

"A beta can dream," P'Mild sighed, leaning over to give a gentle smack to Gulf's arm. "And I'm not fangirling _myself_! You know I'm rooting for you two! When is the engagement?? More importantly, where is my invitation??"

"Phi, you know I don't think about Bright that way." 

Gulf said it so often the words came out a little automatically, but it was true. Just because an Alpha was friends with an O didn't mean they were together. It was 2020, a lot of Omegas were at school and even the workplace now, though definitely not all parts of society accepted it. Obviously P'Mild wasn't one of those traditionalists, but the beta consumed so many romance dramas that sometimes it felt like he was determined to squeeze them in one.

Gulf gave a wry smile as he finished changing and packed up his gym bag. He wasn't exactly the romance type.

Bright was already on the bike when he came out, tossing a helmet back and forth in his hands with the hint of a smirk threatening to show on his face.

"Up for a shortcut?"

"Nn, don't use me as an excuse." Gulf accepted the helmet and clambered onto the back, wrapping his arms around the Alpha's waist. Something well-bred and long-drilled in Gulf was still a little shy about this, but years of Bright picking him up had wrung most of it out of him. "I'll take anything that'll save us from Coach yelling at us. But it'd be nice to have all my limbs krub."

"I'm not the one who made us late," Bright replied, and from the cheery tone Gulf had a bad suspicion about this, which was confirmed when the engine fired up and they leapt straight through the intersection in a cloud of dust.

Gulf tucked his nose into the back of the Alpha's shirt with a soft groan. He had a little motion sickness that didn't take the city's winding _sois_ very well. Bright, meanwhile, liked racing anything that might kill him, still jumped roofs and scaled gates (though that was handy when it came to Gulf's condo sometimes) for fun. When Gulf first met him over 15 years ago, Bright had been trying to climb the balconies of one of the residential buildings in the compound and slipped and fell into the pool. Gulf remembered his dad holding up a small, surly boy who looked like a damp, infuriated cat caught with its paw in the fishbowl.

And now he was a grown man. Gulf bit his lip. P'Mild had it wrong, they didn't think about each other that way, but Bright _was_ his oldest and closest friend. And he _was_ an Alpha. And not like most of the Alphas Gulf met either — macho, leering, running their eyes all over him like they owned him just for being an Omega who dared walk around in public with his neck bare and unbonded. Like that customer earlier this morning — a middle-aged, paunchy man old enough to be his father — who'd called him over, slid his fingers on his wrist and leaned over so close he was nearly blowing on Gulf's ear when he'd asked what "the pretty little O" was doing after work. 

And Gulf just — couldn't grasp the words. This kind of thing happened all the time but . . . every time it was the same: tug his hand away, ears burning, flustered silence as he'd try to keep working.

 _You should've yelled at him_ , he thought unhappily _. Told him off!_ Gulf knew he was awkward, knew he'd never be the best at standing up to people, but . . . couldn't he come up with _something_ when it mattered? Summon up the tiniest bit of backbone just once? 

Instead, all he could manage was stand there in frozen shame as the Alpha then drained his coffee cup on the floor with a deliberate smirk. Gulf knew this one — get the Omega on his knees, maybe get to see their ass — so he'd turned around instead, walked stiffly to the supplies closet and returned with a rag that he dropped on the floor and scrubbed grimly with the tip of his shoe. Ha.

No one could say that Gulf wasn't stubborn, at least.

But what if P'Mild was right? What if Bright _was_ the only Alpha Gulf would ever be able to put up with? Maybe even the only person in some ways, because Gulf didn't really know many people, and their friendship was a little weird but Bright was the only one he could imagine being able to hang out with every day. They were both the introverted type so it wouldn't be too bad. Probably they'd just be watching football games all day and trying not to throttle each other when Man United played Chelsea.

Probably. If they let him.

Gulf had to keep his hands from fisting in Bright's tee. He didn't talk to his dad much, hadn't even spoken to anyone from the clan outside merit-makings and Songkran for over six years now, but he didn't need to. He was the eldest son, and an Omega, already 22 and unbonded. They'd let him "leave" as much as one could, but would they really let the son of the Pillar marry whomever he wanted? Bright was clan, but what if they were a civ?

Gulf sent a silent prayer to whatever spirit let him get away with his lax piety above. It wasn't something he liked to think about.

"Let's go this way." Bright's voice was partially swallowed up by the wind, but he turned before Gulf could protest.

"Bright!"

It was evening, and rush hour was beginning to spill waves of cars and people around them — but Gulf couldn't stop the instinctive worry from lancing into his voice as the _soi_ suddenly broadened into a wide boulevard and skyscrapers thrust into view.

Sathorn was — _their_ territory. 

Gulf was fine. He didn't wear jade, couldn't even dream of it as an O, it was just the reflex that had been drilled into him from the time he was young: where he could go, where he couldn't, what places were okay by daylight but probably less so at night. What places he should never, ever go, even if they were no longer their enemies. 

Sathorn was one of the okay places. And it was daytime, with so many people here, and Gulf didn't wear jade, and even if he did none of them knew Kanawut Phawattakun was anywhere near Bangkok. Which meant he was safer than safe: just another civ here, another face in the crowd, some random college student on their way to practice. But.

He bit his lip. 

Bright never went without his pendant. 

Bright must've felt his unease, because his shoulder moved in a shrug as he tilted his head back, a shift of hard muscle against Gulf's chest. "Don't worry, we'll hit Patpong soon. Then you can look at girly bars instead."

" _Bright!_ "

Not that Gulf didn't feel the tiniest flicker of relief though, when they slipped back into the mess that was the _sois_ of the old nightlife district. He closed his eyes and gave an annoyed little huff against Bright's ear, because he didn't want this either — couldn't they go through the neutral territories instead? — but at least it was comfortably No Cloud-controlled. 

Gulf didn't have anything to do with the clan anymore outside the inescapable but . . . whatever Bright's rank was, Gulf didn't know, but he _was_ clan. Went to the clan academy, must've graduated okay (Gulf wasn't sure about this one, considering Bright's casual attitude towards school, but he assumed), and he _did_ wear jade via his pendant. So he was probably doing _something_ in the clan, if they still let him carry green. Or maybe it was just because he was Gulf's childhood friend, that gave him some leeway — Gulf's dad knew him well and even acknowledged him with a pat on the back and some words at the last Songkran, which was a lot for someone Bright had pissed off on the regular growing up.

Gulf never asked, and Bright never mentioned it. Not talking about clan anything suited both of them. 

(It did amuse Gulf a bit though, thinking about Bright being ordered around as if he were a rookie Finger. Bright Vachirawit, scrubbing floors and running errands like a messenger boy.)

The motorbike slowing down made him blink and look up. Dull neon signs stared back: too early in the evening, Patpong was mostly dead, outside a few tourists and working girls stooped on the steps with their cigs. Bright was looking up at a sign that said something mortifying in English, set between a pair of plastic blobs that vaguely suggested the female body. The whole grimy strip of windows was still shuttered.

"Huh," Bright said.

Gulf peered over his shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

Bright shook his head. "Nothing." Then he started up the bike again, and Gulf had to wrap his arms tight as they burst through Thaniya Road, and down towards the campus practice fields.

*******

The game went lousily: Saint Mary's was a preppy rich-kids' kind of uni and not a particularly strong team outside their one right winger, while their own had done well enough to make playoffs last year, but they had to fight to scramble out a draw in the 89th minute. Gulf was one of the better players on the team but he'd started out with a sinking feeling at how tired he was from work, so it didn't surprise him that he couldn't help but sit deeper and deeper as the game went on — but. 

Honestly, it was actually Bright who slipped up.

Most defenders couldn't keep up with him, just his sheer speed and athleticism on the left wing would overwhelm them, not to mention his notorious prowess in one-on-ones. But you realized early on that St Mary's had made a clever tactical move: they'd set their right winger on him in a more wingback position, so that he was sacrificing a bit of himself in attack to man-mark Bright tight and actually sort of succeeding. Not as fast, definitely, but he had good positioning and seemed to have an almost psychic read of where Bright wanted to go. Gulf could sense the frustration in his friend building up until it was near the end of the game and there was a shout, and a commotion over on the far side of the field.

Gulf jogged over. Bright and the St Mary's right winger were tangled up on the ground, Bright pushing himself to his feet with a snarl. 

" _What the hell_ kind of tackle was that —"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the other boy argued, rubbing his face. He had a pretty face with a wide prominent mouth and flushed cheeks, looking even from the ground as tall and fit as Bright. Something in Gulf told him _beta_ , though, maybe just because it didn't look like he was about to start throwing punches. " _I was going for the ball_. You just — suddenly stopped moving!"

"Because I couldn't tell if an idiot was trying to intercept or run me over!" 

The boy pulled himself to his feet with an indignant humph. Standing, he was revealed to be really as tall as Bright, and he used it to aim a finger at Bright's chest. "Maybe if you weren't trying to yank my shirt the whole game — "

Bright's eyes flicked down to the finger. Back up. " _Maybe_ if someone wasn't breathing down my neck like a stalker — "

"That's enough," the referee barked. He cast an annoyed look at the scene before pulling out the cards from his shirt pocket: yellow, two of them. "You two, stop bickering and start playing. Metawin, watch your tackles."

Bright snorted, looking like he was about to retort with something rude, but didn't argue. Gulf watched him stalk off to his water with a sigh of relief. Win Metawin had a way of getting under Bright's skin, in a way that made no sense to Gulf — the right winger was good, definitely, but there were plenty of good players out there, and Bright paid as much attention to them as a fish did to water. His friend was a little . . . independent, to put it mildly, but he _could_ control his temper. He wasn't one of those Alphas always prodding at people's buttons for a fight. 

He wasn't easy to talk to, either. Gulf bit his lip as he sat down and started unlacing his cleats, thinking. Maybe it was because Metawin actually poked back at him? Bright wasn't used to people knocking on his prickly wall when he sulked; most people either found his scowl intimidating or his shrug infuriating. And that was just the betas. Alphas wanted to have his head and Os giggled every time he came into view, at least before they caught sight of Gulf. Then their voices would tip low, their heads ducking together: _look at his bare neck_ ! _Gosh, what a tramp._

"Get a life krub," Gulf muttered.

At least he had football. And the cafe. It was slow, but he _was_ making his own way out there in the world. 

"Give it back!"

Gulf's head shot up. Almost everyone was gone already, because Gulf had stayed afterwards to apologize to the coach for being a bit late and not at his best ("I've already afforded you a lot of allowances," the coach had sighed, meaning the part where Gulf was an _Omega_ on the football team, and that hurt but what could Gulf do, but get good enough to shove it in their faces?) but the shout came from the away team's side of the bleachers. To a bolt of alarm, he saw a familiar red-and-black-uniformed figure by the bench, one arm raised aloft and dangling a small object in his hand as the other boy tried to grab at it. 

Bright's taunting voice carried over.

"Not until you delete the pic, nuisance."

"How — what — it's just a selfie! Give it back, Bright Vachirawit!" 

Bright evaded the other boy's attempted leap with a casual sidestep and drop of the shoulder. It was Win. Gulf saw that they might be the same height, but Bright was more agile; every time Win tried to pounce on his hand, Bright would swap it to his other to skirt him by inches, or shift his weight to slip just below him and around, face bored-looking but with the tiniest smirk of a gleam in his eyes, like a cat toying lazily with a mouse.

"You — _bullying_ — "

"Oh? Who's the one taking pics of the other team? _Stalker_ ," Bright drawled. "If you're that hot for shirtless guys, at least wait for the showers."

"I — ughhh!" The other boy looked like he was somewhere between tearing his hair out and shoving it in Bright's mouth. He made a desperate leap that the Alpha eluded with a flick of the wrist. "You are _so annoying._ That was a _selfie_ for my Instagram Story, I didn't even notice anyone walking around in the background!"

"Bright, give it back!" Gulf caught up just as Bright glanced over. 

"Don't worry about it — "

At the same time, Win made a messy lunge at Bright's wrist, and hit the forearm instead.

The phone clattered to a loud drop on the bleachers, bouncing twice before hitting the ground. Win moaned and rushed to it, picking it up gingerly between his fingers as he held it up to the stadium light. 

"You broke my phone!" 

Bright shrugged. "Samsung. No loss."

" _Bright!_ " Gulf and Win, at the same time. Win tapped gloomily at the screen as Gulf shot a hard look at his friend, and Bright gave a sigh that sounded like he was being dragged in front of the King for an execution. 

"Fine. Whatever. Give me your number nuisance, I'll get it repaired this weekend."

". . . Are you kidding me?" Win whirled around, shiny black bangs stuck to his temples as he rolled his eyes up at the sky, his hands plastered together as if summoning the strength to endure this conversation. "You. Broke. My phone. What number are you going to reach me at?"

"You're right," Bright said. "Where do you live?"

". . . I hate you," Win said. Gulf couldn't blame him. "I'm not telling you where I live, Bright Vachirawit. If you want to hand me my phone, we can meet up at a spot. In public."

Bright cocked his head at him. 

"Okay."

"Lumpini Park. At the statue." Win narrowed his eyes. "Sunday at 11?"

"I don't wake up that early, but okay." Bright strided over and too quick for Win to jump back, plucked the phone out of his hand as he headed off in the direction of the showers.

Leaving Gulf with Win. 

". . . Sorry about that krub." Gulf dipped his hands together in a wai. Made a helpless wave in the direction Bright had left in: _Yes. All that. That is a lot_. "My teammate wasn't feeling well today, he's not usually this mean krub."

The other boy cast a wary, dubious look at him as if noticing Gulf for the first time. But his brow relaxed, and the twist of his mouth as he chewed on it didn't hold any anger in it, just exasperation. He was cute, Gulf thought. Definitely a beta. No attraction for Gulf, but . . . sometimes it was nice to imagine he could be with anyone he chose.

"Yeah. Okay. Sorry you have to put up with him krub," the boy sighed, and ducked his head to start tugging at his cleats. 

Gulf caught up with Bright at the entrance to the showers. The Alpha slid an unreadable gaze at him before starting to take off his jersey in short, curt yanking motions that told Gulf how annoyed he was. 

Gulf waited. Finally, the other boy muttered,

"He caught you in the background."

" _Shai_ , I'm probably in dozens of people's backgrounds." Gulf sighed as he started reaching for his locker. "It's fine, Bright, they don't even know what I look like. And why would they be browsing some random boy's Instagram Story anyways?"

A snort. "He's popular. He has a lot of followers. At least one of them's probably clan or near it."

"And _they don't know what I look like_." Gulf pulled his gym bag out of the locker, groping for the zipper. "They think I'm on the other side of the ocean! Even if they knew I was in Bangkok, I just look like some random college kid with a bad haircut. There's nothing special about me."

He tugged out his change of shirt. 

"And what would they care anyways, even if they did know? We're not at war anymore."

Bright was silent.

The _better safe than sorry_ hung in the air. It was frustrating, but . . . Gulf understood. Clan had a way of digging its claws in you; not on your skin, no, but from the inside, like the tendrils of a rose that grew around your heart. Six years later, six years of living on his own, trying to make it as a civ, and he still couldn't call himself truly free.

He gave a small smile into his gym bag. 

"But thank you for watching out for me krub."

Bright grunted.

"Yeah, well, if I didn't, who would?"

********

Tul waited until they'd turned onto the highway before he spoke.

"I'm sorry for interjecting earlier, Pillar."

Leaned against the wide leather backseat of the Orphean, there was plenty of room for the Pillar to lounge, or even close his eyes and catch some sleep, but he didn't. Instead he'd kept his gaze pointed outside, where the bright lights of the commercial district blurred past the window in streaks on his face. There must've been exhaustion in him after weeks of early mornings and late nights, but Mew had some kind of superhuman power of not showing it. The way he relaxed against the door now, cheek propped up on his hand, reminded Tul less of the tiredness of an overworked man than the lazy poise of a predator at rest.

"Do you think I'm annoyed at you, Horn?"

"Not really," Tul admitted. "But I overstepped myself." He eyed the pouch whose string he'd been twisting in his hand. "I was thinking about Boonrueng and how loud he's been about the academy reform. He's an idiot, but has too much sway with some of the other conservatives. I don't think we need to throw them more ammunition, if they heard about you sparing a pair of jade thieves."

"If they heard about it," Mew said, thoughtfully.

"They won't," Tul said.

Unsaid was the _not if I have anything to do about it_. There'd only been Max and Tul from their side, and both of them would die before uttering a word that might harm him, so they were fine. No Cloud, though — they were probably well aware that the thieves had fled through Naga territory, which meant they knew it was Naga hands that held their jade by now. Just a bracelet, sure, but cuts of clan quality were rare, nothing you could buy with money. 

More important, though, was the symbolism of it. Jade hadn't exchanged hands in years.

Tul said, "I'll send some men to sniff around No Cloud, see how much they know. What they're thinking."

(At the mention of No Cloud, Mew stiffened, ever-so-slightly. You wouldn't notice unless you were as familiar with him as Tul was, but Tul did, made a quiet note of it. The scar might be an old one, but that didn't mean it didn't know when it was touched.

You could agree to bury old hatred, but the hatred wasn't a hatchet or a corpse. The hatred was the soil, the water, the tree. Mew would never return them to war, Tul knew that, but that didn't mean he had to like them.)

None of them did. He changed the subject. "I'll send out some feelers around the docks too, see if there've been any rumblings of new buyers recently. If this Lefty's as old-hand as they say, he wouldn't throw caution to the wind for no reason." 

The theft today was only part of it. There'd been an uptick in skimming at the mines lately, only low-quality raw ore barely worth more than dust it came from so it didn't attract much attention, but still. It wasn't a good look for a new Pillar, the suggestion of laxness. 

"Take what you need," Mew said.

Tul felt the shape of the jade beads in the pouch, rolled them between forefinger and thumb. He was still confused by something.

"The thieves. Did you actually need them for . . .?"

That drew out a chuckle. "If I actually needed them for anything, the clan's in worse shape than I thought." 

"Ah," Tul said.

A comfortable silence filled the space, contemplative in the background noise of car sounds and distant construction: the evening hum of the city. It could well have lasted, but then the Pillar sighed, and tapped a finger on the window.

"I hear your worry, Tul. I get it. I don't need to make moves that send them off muttering again about how I'm not my sire."

"It's a hard position to be in," Tul felt the need to say. "I don't envy you. Just looking at your schedule gives me a headache, forget the politics."

" _Shai_." The Pillar briefly closed his eyes. "I thought I was supposed to lead a house of dragons, not a nest of snakes."

"Krub," Tul said. He didn't like the senior council either, but it still made him uncomfortable to speak critically of them, even in private. Tul had been brought up that way, in an old-school clan family. Head down, work hard, green to the bone.

The silence stretched on.

Tul turned his head, resting his gaze out his own window. Blue and green highway signs blew past in a steady metronome; the air was clear and the traffic was good tonight. A full moon night. The words rose up out of him from some distant plain.

"Was it because he tried to save his friend?"

 _Offered his own finger instead,_ he remembered. Remembered the animal fear in the boy's eyes, the sullen defiance in it.

Mew didn't say anything for a moment. Then his shoulder lifted in a small shrug as he reached for the water bottle.

"Who knows," the Pillar said. "But green or not, I'll take a man over a snake."

********

Bright offered to drop him off at the condo, but Gulf had wanted to grab groceries first (well, if by groceries you meant another six-pack of spicy MaMa ramen . . . master chef, Gulf was not. Master of shoveling a bowl of carbs in his mouth in front of youtube and napping, though . . .). He was coming out of the 7-Eleven when he got the text. 

It wasn't a number he saw often. In fact, the last time was Songkran. 

_Have you eaten yet, nephew_ , his uncle was asking. 

_Even if you have though, if you can spare a few hours, please come by._

Gulf stared at the bright white screen of his phone. What could they want at this hour? He didn't have classes until late tomorrow, but it was still extremely rare for his father or his people to call on him. The last time was over four months ago, an awkward dinner at a private seafood place where his father dictated emails to his assistant in-between quizzing Gulf about his grades. The Pillar of No Cloud was a busy man, one whose lunches and dinners were strictly for business.

He was typing the _okay uncle_ when the car pulled up: sleek, pearl-white, windows tinted dark and gleaming like a pair of new shades. He caught his reflection off them in the light of the 7-Eleven, before the door opened and a man Gulf vaguely recognized as one of his father's bodyguards stepped out. The curved handle of a talon knife peeked out from under the suit jacket. A hard shape above it: the backup gun. 

Gulf gazed at the dark maw of the open door for a moment before he nodded.

Looks like the nap would have to wait.

* * *

  
  


_CHARACTER SHEETS_

(There are more major characters introduced here, but I'm withholding their sheets for now . . . for reasons.)

_AUTHOR'S NOTES_

_Research notes:_

  * [Patpong](https://www.barnewsbangkok.com/patpong-daytime.html) is a notoriously seedy red light district in Silom that mainly caters to foreign tourists and expats. It's the oldest and probably most notorious of Bangkok's [three red-light districts](https://theculturetrip.com/asia/thailand/articles/a-guide-to-bangkoks-red-light-districts/).
  * Ekkamai and On Nut are like the trendy, eclectic, up-and-coming hipster neighborhoods in Bangkok. [Ekkamai](https://theculturetrip.com/asia/thailand/articles/a-guide-to-bangkoks-hipster-neighborhood-ekkamai/) has a ton of eateries and cute Instagrammable cafes. [On Nut](https://coconuts.co/bangkok/lifestyle/3-reasons-nut-becoming-one-bangkoks-livable-neighborhoods/) bordering it is not quite as trendy yet, but seems to be attracting more and more young professionals for its affordability and neighborhood feel. 
  * [Sathorn](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sathon_Road) is a major road passing through Bang Rak and Sathon, a business district lined with skyscrapers, corporate offices and banks, upscale hotels and luxury condos.
  * [Lumphini Park](https://www.tripsavvy.com/bangkok-lumpini-park-complete-guide-4580307) is the equivalent of Central Park in NYC, the main park and a green oasis at the heart of the city. It has a statue of King Rama VI and apparently a lot of monitor lizards.
  * [Yaba is a real drug](https://theculturetrip.com/asia/thailand/articles/everything-you-need-to-know-about-yaba-the-madness-medicine/), made up of meth and caffeine.
  * [Thai funerals take two weeks to prepare ](https://www.joincake.com/blog/thai-funeral/)and are more like fun celebratory parties than the dirges we're used to in America.
  * [Thalassemia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thalassemia) is real, the variant Prem has is called [alpha thalassemia](https://www.stjude.org/disease/alpha-thalassemia.html#:~:text=Alpha%20thalassemia%20is%20a%20type,to%20cells%20throughout%20the%20body.) with [hemoglobin H constant spring](https://www.nicklauschildrens.org/conditions-we-treat/hgb-h-constant-spring), which is a genetic blood disorder [most common in Thailand](https://elifesciences.org/articles/40580) and southeast asia. Symptoms vary widely but anemia seems to be the most prominent one. Treatment for more severe variants involve regular blood transfusions and iron chelation therapy. Bone marrow transplants are a potential cure in young people but it is tricky to find a donor.
  * [Six seeds](https://www.theoi.com/articles/what-is-the-demeter-and-persephone-story-summarized/).
  * [I spent a long time browsing forums](https://forum.thaivisa.com/topic/572663-when-to-pee-and-when-to-nong/) and [sites](https://www.thaiworldview.com/family.htm) [for](https://forum.thaivisa.com/topic/139901-pi-khun-etc/) [when](https://www.lonelyplanet.com/thorntree/forums/asia-thailand/topics/thai-etiquette) [to](https://forum.thaivisa.com/topic/22417-calling-boyfriend-khun/) use phi/nong/lung/khun/noo and basically threw up my hands. Phi and nong seem to be pretty common when there is some familiarity (more phi than nong), but I'm not sure what happens with people almost exactly the same in age (like Bright and Gulf) or between very close friends. So I'm not using titles much in this fic.



_Character notes:_

  * Pieces are starting to set up on the board 🙏 Sorry if the non-MG airtime feels slow or boring — weirdly enough none of these POVs besides Gulf fall into the main POVs/ships, but I want a more third-person view of some of these characters before diving in. Squinting at the loose outline I have so far though, it's definitely a very ensemble cast and things can change if anyone has strong feelings.
  * Confession: I have not seen MaxTul outside clips on youtube but I adore these crazy crackheads and am MAD HYPE for Manner of Death. Max I see as the more hyperactive child of the pair, Tul as the more responsible phi who is friendly to everyone (except when hangry). He's friends with Mew in real life.
  * I know BounPrem are majorly OOC since they're actually sweeties in real life, but I needed a more street-tough attitude for Boun's background. So I'm playing off of Boun's "tough" look (which is all look since he's really a cinnamon roll!).
  * Saratine is bleeding in!! All it's missing is a Sara-LEO 😂 Bright I'm taking as pretty athletically gifted from all the sports he does (soccer, muay thai, boxing, waterskiing etc) and how athletically confident he was in the [GMMTV Friend Drive](https://youtu.be/R2sqcFcaEfA) vids. I don't think he's anywhere near _this_ sulky irl of course but it leaves his character room to grow. 
  * Gulf I feel like I really struggle with writing :( He says he's hardheaded and he's definitely quite "guyish", but he's also just SO sweet, soft-spoken, and polite (AKA our smol baby Kana), and other times SO playful and naughty (around Mew!). I always think of him as a shy/quiet person for some reason, even though I know he had plenty of friends as a kid and he's articulate in front of the camera 🥺 Both him and Mew describe him as someone with walls though, and I see that. I think the main thing for me is, is that it takes him some time — and more importantly, MEW — to have those walls taken down brick by brick.



_More random Author's notes:_

  * I spent a bunch of time looking up Muay Thai, Sambo, and street-fighting videos on youtube. Sadly, it's not helping in terms of actually _writing_ a fight scene. On the other hand, youtube now thinks I'm a 28-year-old man training to be a badass.
  * Pretend Thailand is America and doesn't have affordable healthcare. 
  * Sorry for the Samsung hate. I actually used to be an Android developer. Except I own an iPhone now. . . 
  * It kinda amuses me to capitalize Alpha and Omega but not beta 😅 Betas are the most overlooked of the genders so it feels right to me that people in this world don't use them as a proper noun. Alphas and Omegas are much rarer (around 20%/5% of the population in this fic, but for males only 1% are Omegas) so they stand out more, and they get all the attention in media and the cultural imagination and so on.
  * [I fantasize about going to a Bangkok 7-11](https://thailand.tripcanvas.co/bangkok/must-try-7-eleven/).
  * Was this chapter too long? I may need to break these out more, I'm tired just editing it 😅 




	3. Two Pillars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gulf's spent the last six years building up a life for himself: a job, a degree, a place of his own. It's not much, but it's something, and to have it all taken away in one night: that's the will of a Pillar. 
> 
> Mew's never feared for any of those things, and will's the last thing he's lacking. But somehow, he's no closer to what he wants either.
> 
> The past is the past, but the past remembers.

******

When Gulf was a child, the thing he wanted most was a cat.

Tanet Phawattakun had no patience for small animals, and Kwanjai Phawattakun was allergic, so that was only a small hopeless wish delegated to "well maybe your friend's family will get one". Gulf wanted to argue that he did not _really_ have friends either, outside of Bright, at least not ones whose parents were never far off mentioning his parentage, but that would just make _mae_ sad so he would keep his sulks to himself. He was very busy then with Pear, who was just starting to walk. 

Pear was much bolder than Gulf even as a baby, and it was she who discovered the stone garden. The Phawattakun main house was modern and Western but the estate it sat on was vast, traditionally-styled, and had the air of a solemn place you kept your voice quiet and did not touch too many things; there were many passages that led to the No Cloud compound surrounding it, and many hallways and elegant doors that were very important and that Gulf was Not To Go Into. But when Tanet Phawattakun discovered his son in the quiet garden staring at the warrior statue, man-sized and guarding a stone shrine as tall and intimidating as a temple, he was pleased. 

"Do you see the moon blade?" He'd said, gesturing to the huge sword that it clasped between its hands pointing down, the steel a clean, cold gleam in the sun. Five jade stones studded its hilt: an expensive luxury, Gulf knew instinctively, to keep here when they needed it out on the streets. "That was the Second Pillar's sword, by legend. We unsheathe it in times of war, and return it to its scabbard only when peace returns."

Gulf wisely did not ask when that would be. He followed his father to the shrine, where the inner walls turned out to be carved from top to bottom in dense script, only snatches of which Gulf could read: a description of the founding of the clan, then the Hundred Principles, then a list of names and dates. "All of the previous Pillars' names are carved here," his father explained. "From Sonchai to my own father."

"That'll be your name on it someday," he'd said a moment later, with a note of pride.

Gulf kept quiet. He tried not to be too much of a scaredy-cat who believed in ghosts, but he was spooked by the look of the warrior statue, by its empty eyesockets in the armor. And the shrine had the hushed feeling of a mausoleum, without the colorful flowers and cheeky figurines of the spirit houses he was used to, and if there were all the previous Pillars residing here they were probably not very impressed by 11-year-old Gulf, who could barely make a proper Deflection shield without hitting himself. (Not that anyone could at Gulf's age, they hadn't _really_ started academy yet but still — Pillar's son.)

His dad noticed the little paling in Gulf's face though, and laughed. "Don't be scared of ghosts," he'd said, tousling Gulf's hair. "Not these ones."

Still, Gulf was wary. If Pear squirmed her way in Gulf would follow, but he would never go there on his own, even in daytime. 

And then he discovered her.

Curled up behind the altar, and taking apparent advantage of the food offerings placed on it, was a small tabby cat. At Gulf's little gasp, it froze, coconut chip still in mouth. Then it bolted.

Gulf was disappointed, but also terribly excited by this new development. He rushed to the kitchen and found the remainder of the basil pork bun he had left from lunch, and then crawled back to the shrine with his offering and waited. The cat did not come, and Gulf fell asleep waiting, but the bun was gone when Gulf checked first thing the next morning. And that was how it went the next day, and the next, until Gulf finally caught a glimpse of her pink paw peeping out beneath the altar instead of running when he showed up with his lunchbox.

"What a good kid your son is," his uncle said, a little jokingly but with an approving tone. "Isn't he always at that shrine? Must have memorized the damn Hundred Principles by now."

Gulf, who had not looked at a single principle but _had_ collected a hundred Gyarados on his DS by now, only smiled bashfully. Even good children had to have their secrets.

This all went well until the storm. 

Gulf remembered that the rain was pouring so hard that night he couldn't see outside his window, only hear the battering on the gutters before his bedroom lit up in lightning. Pear was giggling in delight and it was warm and safe inside but Gulf's heart was pounding and he ran out without even slapping on his boots or raincoat. The torrent flooded up to his shins and he was mudcaked and gasping by the time he got to the garden and ducked into the shrine, calling for Jub in the violent darkness. But the cat was not there no matter how hard Gulf looked, and instead he slipped, crashing right onto the altar and shattering the miniature Buddha on it. 

The next morning, he was feverish, Jub was gone, his parents were mad at him for running outside like a lunatic, and the altar was not, like he had desperately hoped, broken only in some nightmare of his. His parents chalked it up to the storm, and Gulf knew — _knew_ it couldn't possibly have anything to do with anything, but . . . five months later, when everything went wrong, he'd remember it. 

Hard to forget the past.

Gulf closed his eyes for a moment, just feeling the cool pane of the car window against his cheek. When he opened them they were passing through the garden, but it was too dark to make out the statue in the sliver of moonlight, only the hunched shape of the shrine where it always was in the darkness. 

_Please . . . at least let Jub have gotten out okay._

Gulf hated this route, but there wasn't exactly any choice. There were several ways to sneak in to the main house while avoiding the compound, but this was one of the safest, coming from the secret back tunnels. Having to crawl in like a fugitive was one of the many reasons Gulf tried to only meet up with family off-site.

Crunchy gravel became smooth pavement. The car began to slow, and Gulf felt his pulse pick up. There were the silhouettes of several men standing in the back courtyard when they pulled up. Gulf gave a startled look to the bodyguard, who had been silent the whole time, and the man nodded. 

"They're safe," he said.

 _Of course_ they'd be vetted. Gulf needed to calm down, check himself. Only a dozen or so people outside his family and Bright were supposed to know his identity, all of them the highest-ranking leadership and the Phawattakuns' most trusted family friends. But if his dad said these were safe, then they were.

The thing was, the eldest son of the Pillar of No Cloud was not, emphatically, supposed to be in this hemisphere at this moment, much less deep inside the No Cloud compound and sneaking into his childhood home. The eldest son of the Pillar of No Cloud was supposed to be studying international affairs in New York City an entire continent away, and he was supposed to be named Gup Kanawut, and he was supposed to be more interested in studying abroad and learning English than earning jade the way Pillar's sons had done for centuries, which his father indulged because it was the 21st century and one must modernize old ways of thinking. 

The eldest son of the Pillar of No Cloud was not, of course, supposed to be an Omega. 

Gulf watched the men's faces in the dim light as the door opened and he was escorted out. He did recognize some of them now, high-ranking Alphas on the Horn side including the First and Second Fist, which was odd because both rarely came up to the main house at the same time. They were discussing something in low voices and gave a brief nod of acknowledgement as Gulf and the bodyguard went past, but only to the latter, and without a pause in their conversations. 

This was unsurprising. No one could treat Gulf disrespectfully because he was the Pillar's son, but still, he was an O. Os didn't have any business in Alphas' affairs. 

It might be the 21st century, but the one thing Gulf knew — _really_ knew, in the bone-deep, private-hurt kind of way — was that Alphas would never _, ever_ accept Omegas on their level. They might be polite, they might be chivalrous (in a patronizing way, obviously), but they were too used to being top of the hierarchy for no reason other than being blessed with some more muscles and testosterone. Equal-rights laws on the books didn't stop them from dominating the upper echelons of the military and government and industry rich lists the way they always had. Almost all the Fists in his clan were Alphas; there'd never been a Horn who wasn't.

Not that Gulf cared; he'd never wanted to be on that side of the clan anyways. But being around P'Mild and other betas most of the time (and the weirdest Alpha in Bright) meant that he usually didn't have to remember what he was, and then . . . this. The reminder of a thousand-plus years of history where it sucked to be an O because Alphas were gross and entitled and actually _attracted to them_ , and there were only ever maybe a third as many as them and that meant Os were prizes that knotheads hoarded and started wars over and had to set escorts on.

 _Prizes_. Gulf couldn't count the number of times some smirking asshole in his class said that Os held the "real power" because Alphas were scent-crazy for them, all they had to do was open their legs and they'd be set for life while "everyone else" had to work. 

He bit the inside of his cheek. All they had to do, right.

The other thing Os were blessed-slash-cursed with was the sensitive nose. The Alpha scent at rest was heavy enough; with several of them, and in tension, it was smothering. Gulf had to school his face not to show his discomfort as they made their way through the grand foyer. It wasn't that these particular men made him nervous, Gulf just . . . didn't like groups of Alphas, was all. 

"Khun Gulf." A quiet voice by his ear.

It was a Fist that Gulf recognized a little better as someone who seemed to manage security the last few times he'd met up with his family, and this time Gulf gave a genuine if surprised smile. Gulf had barely ever spoken to him, didn't know him at all, but he had a good impression of the reserved Alpha as someone who was extremely polite, even to Bright. Not everyone was.

The Fist made a small wai, before gesturing towards the hall. He looked at Gulf instead of the bodyguard. "They're waiting in the East Wing cellar, in the private dining room. I'll take you over." 

_You_ , not _the boy_. That was kinda nice, though Gulf doubted he needed an escort. The mansion was intimidatingly huge and the last he'd been here was over a year ago, but this _was_ still his childhood home and he didn't think he could possibly forget. As the Fist took him through the empty hallways, however, he realized that there _were_ changes, that his father must have been remodeling. Something about the decor felt alien, jarring with his memory — was that massive elephant sculpture always there? Was the solarium always marble-floored? His father had apparently expanded the art gallery with a wall featuring printouts of his headlines: new business deals, glamour shots of him shaking hands with the Prime Minister of Japan and Leonardo DiCaprio. It was a little tacky, and Gulf grimaced internally seeing the new idol group No Cloud was supposed to be sponsoring. He'd heard about that one since it'd been trending on Twitter a few weeks ago; not everyone thought it was appropriate to have the venerable six seeds logo show up on a pop star calendar. _Nice one, dad._

At least they didn't take the route by her room. Gulf didn't want to know if that had changed.

There were deep, masculine voices laughing inside the cellar when they approached. Gulf hesitated but the Fist knocked on the wall before he'd steeled himself, and his father looked up from the table he was slouched over. The grin on his face widened immediately. "Ah, there's my son! Thanks for bringing him in, Khun Zee."

The Pillar was at least a drink or two in; the flush on his face testified to that as much as the spread of shotglasses and cigarette packs on the table, and Gulf's uncle beside him was clearly helping. But the man across from them, Gulf didn't recognize. He looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, tanned, with one of those forgettable-looking salarymen faces you might pass by at lunch hour in Silom. But an old voice in Gulf's head, the one that had been left to amuse itself while surrounded by a constant sea of strange adults, instinctively noted the signs of wealth: the bespoke suit, the neatly tailored dress shirt, the diamond cufflinks in a K shape. 

Rich, then. A clansman Gulf hadn't met before? He wasn't fat, but there was a little give at the stomach that Gulf suspected meant he wasn't on the Horn side of the clan. Still clearly an Alpha though, because Gulf could smell it through the cigarette smoke and whiskey. 

At seeing Gulf, the stranger's gaze looked surprised for a split second before it relaxed like he saw something that pleased him. 

"Ahh Pillar, you're right." Turning back to lean towards his father. "Your son _is_ beautiful."

"What did I say." There was pride in Tanet Phawattakun's voice as he picked up his whiskey glass and held it up to the light, contemplating. "He takes after his mother after all, long rest her soul."

Gulf did not move. He had a sudden, horrifying sensation that he knew what this was. 

It was his uncle who beckoned him over. Stout, thick-necked, his uncle was a simple man with the physical constitution of a bull and a talent for somehow never noticing the awkward. He slapped the back of the Pillar's chair as he motioned at Gulf in the doorway. "Don't just stand there, child! Come in, join us for a drink!"

"I don't drink." That was a lie, but Gulf found his feet moving unwillingly to the table. He felt, more than heard, the closing of the door behind him, the Fist's footsteps retreating softly back down the corridor.

It wasn't like there was any chance for escape, anyways.

The stranger smiled at him, his eyes skimming down to Gulf's mouth then neck in a way that was not as leering as some of Gulf's worst customers at the cafe, but still obvious. Like appreciating a piece of artwork. "I like that. You know, so many Omegas in the city these days are wild, Khun Tanet. You see them downing drinks with strange Alphas at the bar and making an idiot of themselves out on the street at 2am, and you wonder where their parents are. Don't get me wrong, I support Omegas' rights, but what happened to the classy types?" 

The Pillar heaved a jocular arm around Gulf's waist, dragging him closer as Gulf stiffly stumbled another step in. "That's because they're the ones you _don't_ see out in Ratchada at 2am. I'm glad to say this one's always been a good kid. Never did drugs, drank, gotten mixed up with any Alphas. Never gave me any worries and you know what, I haven't always been as appreciative of that as I should've been. He's in college now and every year he's on the honor roll —"

"The King's list."

"Right, the King's list," the Pillar said, patting Gulf's wrist with a fond chuckle. Then he struck his forehead. "Damn, we forgot the introductions! Son, this here is Thanan Kongpaisarn, executive chairman of KMM Media. I've known him for some years now but his family finally joined us as one of our Lantern Men this year. They've been looking to expand into some new business lines and Khun Thanan thought it was high time to formalize the partnership."

 _There it was_. For a second, the ground shifted under Gulf's feet, blurring his vision at the edges; he felt sick. But the shape of this room, this evening, sharpened into focus. The clan had its own investments but Lantern Men were the lifeblood of it, civilians who paid tribute to the clan for protection and favors. That included small family-run shops in No Cloud districts up to the big corporate names his father had a reputation for chasing, not all of it positive. KMM Media was one of the big three entertainment conglomerates in Thailand, owner of some of the most popular TV channels in the country. This man was probably one of the wealthiest men in Bangkok, and an impressive catch indeed. Impressive enough, maybe, that it might be a worthy match for a hand in marriage. 

But he hadn't . . . as Gulf looked down at the table, feeling his throat tighten, he realized he hadn't _actually_ expected his father to sell him. 

"You're giving me too much credit krub," Khun Thanan said, though with a satisfied smile that made only a flimsy effort at modesty. "I barely had anything to do with it, I'm not as ambitious as I was when I was a young man working all-nighters every week. Now all I want to do is settle down, start a family."

"Family is the most important thing," the Pillar agreed. He was basking in good humor; he pulled the chair beside him open, and bade his son sit.

Gulf's ears were hot. He moved mechanically. He felt like he was on a runaway train, where the only way out was to jump.

The chairman leaned in to set his glass down by Gulf; not close enough to touch him, of course, but close enough for Gulf to feel the impress of his presence, the attempt to chase down his gaze. Even though the man's smile was light, indulgent, Gulf refused to look up and give him the opening. "So what are you studying in school, N'Gulf?"

Gulf's mouth was frozen; stuck between wanting to shout and refusing to speak. In the gruesome pause his father obliged: 

"Has to do with communications. Media, newscaster type stuff."

"The boy has the face for it," the chairman said, warmly. "Or you know what, if he wanted to go into entertainment, I used to focus on the talent side. It's a competitive field but we'd figure out a spot for him. He's got the height for modeling, just add some singing and dancing lessons and he's gold."

"I don't," Gulf said. Stopped. His voice sounded hoarse. "I don't want to be a model." 

"Aye, if I remember the kid's not that into TV or music stuff. More about the sports right?" His uncle was reaching for the whiskey bottle, which he twisted open with a gratified sigh. "I always said to Tanet, that's a damn good thing. Your boy's still a boy, ain't he? Don't make him sit around sewing dresses or whatnot, let him on the damn field."

The Pillar waved him off. "Your stereotypes are stuck in the 1960s, old man," he retorted, chuckling. "You know they let every gender on the national team now, right?"

 _Not true,_ Gulf thought. They didn't have any omegas.

The chairman leaned forward. Gulf had to catch himself from flinching back; was definitely not only saved by the back of his chair, which was too small, too hard, dug into his shoulderblades. And propped up by his father.

The chairman's voice dropped low, a little conspiratorial: "So N'Gulf, it's football you like, isn't it?"

He could drag his feet, Gulf realized, but this wasn't going to end — they'd drag him across the finish line willingly or not. Better to get it over with. He grabbed a voice from the closest bargain bin box.

". . . Shai." Dully.

"He loves it," the Pillar said. "I remember as a kid he'd be watching those games at the dinner table, glued to the screen. Every birthday all he wanted was another jersey. Another! How many Drogbas do you need?"

"Clearly not enough," the chairman chuckled, patting the table. "Tell you what, sweetheart — I'll buy you a team, pick any one in Bangkok. I don't know my football, so it'll be up to you to buy some players that you like."

"Ha! Aren't you spoiling him too much already?" But the Pillar sounded pleased.

"Why not? We've been thinking of getting more involved in sports, and if I can please a pretty Pillar's son too — what's not to like krub."

"Don't think you're getting away without the dowry now," his uncle, joking.

If Gulf stared long enough, he could bore a hole in the wood.

A small, animal voice in his chest wanted to scream. Snap at the men at the table; sprint out the house and never come back, even if they tracked him down with a thousand Fists. But the thought of humiliating his father in public . . . 

He may not have been home for six years now, but he was still the Pillar's son. 

"Thanks," he muttered, hands fisting in his lap. 

He definitely wasn't keeping them from brushing the prickling in his eyes.

******

The pool had no visitors at this hour. Probably hadn't, in some time — Gulf's dad didn't like to swim and never liked to do his socializing in wide open spaces, preferring the darker, more intimate surroundings of a speakeasy or club where you could share a private joke. There was no need to have it so large, or brightly lit up: like most of the mansion, it was all for formality. 

Gulf sat on the edge of the pool and stared at the straight, unmoving beams below. As cold and unreachable as they were.

He wasn't going to cry, so anger it was. But he was too numb to be angry. Even that was hard to kindle, like he was damp inside.

If his father really was marrying him off, that was the end to _everything_ Gulf had been trying to build for himself these last few years. It was tiny, it wouldn't even fit in this pool, but it was _something_. He was about to graduate this year, with a solid GPA. He had Bright; he had his football team. A part-time job. It wasn't like he was making insane money at the cafe — there was no way you could afford his condo on a waiter's income, but his dad had forced it on him for the safer location, and paid for it all in cash — but he made enough to pay off his day-to-day expenses and even tuck aside a modest rainy-day fund. That at least felt like baby steps towards adulting.

What was this dude going to want? Old enough to want kids immediately, probably. He might let Gulf take a small, decorative office job but wouldn't be happy with his Omega bondmate throwing himself into a career at a high-octane, crazy-hours broadcasting studio. Especially one in sports, where it'd be mostly Alphas. He'd never let Gulf stay in his quiet condo; it'd be another mansion, maybe even fancier than this one, but without Gulf's memories or his family in it.

He'd want . . . _that_. 

Gulf pulled his arms closer to his chest, feeling the gross touch of the man's gaze on his skin again. Other men's gazes. Khun Thanan wasn't that ugly, but he was at least a decade older and his scent — the much-vaunted scent that was supposed to draw Aces and Os together, that was supposed to alert soulmates in the romance dramas Gulf didn't care for but P'Mild loved playing at the cafe — wasn't appealing at all. Gulf doubted if he could ever trick or force himself into finding the man attractive. 

There weren't many he found attractive though. He had a proposition almost every week, that was kind of par for the course for an Omega, but on one thing Tanet Phawattakun was right: Gulf was 22 and had never even dated before.

He just . . . didn't like Alphas, was all. 

_What would it even *feel* like?_

"Gulf."

The sound of the Pillar sliding open the back door and coming up behind him didn't prompt a twitch. Nor did his sitting down beside him with a tired grunt, rubbing his knees like they pained him, like he was all old and achy. Gulf did not turn to look at the man he had to call his father and they both stared out at the shimmering water in silence.

"Don't think I don't know that you're angry." 

Silence. 

"I'm not sorry for it though. Gulf, I'm speaking as both your father and Pillar — the man's a good match for you. He's not clan, so you won't ever have to be dragged back here, you don't have to see any of our faces again if you don't want. But he's close enough to us that he understands our ways. And most importantly," the Pillar sighed, "he has the money and the means to protect you."

That was immediate: the bitter edge, leaping to Gulf's throat. "Protect me? Or protect the clan's balance sheet?"

" _Gulf_." The Pillar shot him an unamused look. Removed from his business dealing — because that _was_ a deal, as commercial as any other, Gulf would fight to the grave on that — he was magically less drunk now than he was before. The traces of his flush were still there but the hollows under his eyes were those of a tired but wide-awake man: a serious one. "Yes, the Lantern Man connection is an important piece of it, I'm not denying that. But I don't want you to think of these as two separate things, your health and safety versus the clan's. The clan's welfare IS your welfare. The seed can fall as far from the tree as it likes, doesn't mean it doesn't share the same root."

"I'm not falling," Gulf muttered, blinking hard. "More like — trying to morph into a squirrel. Badly."

" _Gulf_."

"Look, Dad, I _do_ care about the clan." Frustration shot through his voice. "But I've been living on my own for six years, and I've been fine this whole time. I'm about to graduate and start looking for jobs. Why can't I just . . . keep . . . doing that?"

_Why are you selling me off to a stranger?_

"I'm unhappy enough with you living on your own," the Pillar snorted. But that was an old argument, one that Gulf had thought they'd exhausted fighting over, and it seemed like his father agreed. "But I could at least accept that back then. Not now."

Gulf's fingers curled in the soft frayed hem of his jeans. "I don't understand."

"It's none of your concern," the Pillar said.

"Getting married kinda sounds like _my concern._ Unless you mean to make this a one-way transaction." 

Gulf was proud his voice didn't pitch over. There were whole mountains of embarrassment he had yet to mine.

"I'm not _selling you off,_ son." The Pillar's clipped words dropped like hailstones on ice. "You're 22, old enough to start considering these things. You're acting like I'm sending you off to your execution, instead of asking you to consider — just _consider_ , mind you — an offer from one of the richest men in the country. Someone who'd give you the kind of life your ancestors could only dream of."

"I did consider it. It's a pass, thanks."

Gulf's dad would never hit him, but there were moments you could tell it was hard to resist. "That stubbornness is a curse in our line. I know you're spoiled son, I don't regret that, but it's time to grow up. Do you think any of us just do whatever we like? What do I have to do to make you realize the sacrifices the people in this clan have made just to put clothes on your back, much less keep you safe?"

 _Spoiled_. Gulf's fingers dug in his ankles where he'd drawn them close. 

He knew he was lucky. Growing up he'd barely known about the war, much less been forced into harsh training for it, _mae_ had wanted to protect him from it so badly. People didn't pay much attention to him — they had worse distractions — which suited him just fine, he was a quiet kid who loved the endless space to roam around with Pear or try to keep Bright from getting in too much trouble. Gulf would've been happy living at home for the rest of his life, never bothering anyone, never standing out; there were good memories and people he loved here.

Then that night happened, the one that reordered his universe forever. 

One day Gulf was a sheltered Pillar's son, too young to train rigorously but expected to lead the clan someday, a boy marked by his teachers for attention and spoken to seriously by adults; and the next he had to move out of his room to another in the basement, one with a heat lock. And he could no longer go to academy, or touch the jade in his grandfather's room, and no one would look him in the eye. 

They'd said he'd gone to America. Bought them time to figure out a cover story, figure out a way to hide an Omega son from the enemy in the early days of a truce no one was buying. In the dim dark places of his memory Gulf remembered how feverish and alien and _wrong_ his body felt, like it was a science experiment gone wrong — the way he'd dipped his fingers between his thighs and came away with a horrifying wetness — being passed from safehouse to safehouse like cargo, like an unmarked box with no final destination. 

For his safety? Or to save the clan's face?

 _Spoiled._ That wasn't how Gulf remembered it, but how could he make his dad get it? One minute he was a kid, spoiled, yes, but he was something. And the next he was . . . nothing. 

Gulf never wanted to leave his clan, but he had to.

"I _do_ know. I just don't get it. You never even brought up marriage, and now you're just — springing this on me like a punishment — "

"I said, it's not a punishment —"

"It sure feels like one." Flintily. "Just tell me. What'd I do wrong? How'd I piss you off? Maybe I better learn to correct it before my husband does."

His father's annoyance flared in an instant, before settling to an ember: hard, sustained, palpable. But the retort never came out. Instead, the Pillar seemed to debate something internally for a few minutes before finally giving up with a sigh, passing a weary hand over his face. Ripples broke shadows in his frown as he turned to Gulf. 

"Did you see the men tonight when you came in?"

Gulf nodded. The Pillar continued, quietly: "A man went missing earlier today — one of our low-level Fingers. A lazy idiot mind you, and not the first time he'd missed his patrols so no one raised the alarm. Zee noticed though and did some digging, turned out last anyone saw him was at a bar in Patpong. Then a few hours ago, they fished the body out of the Chao Phraya. Neck sliced, jade stolen."

That was . . . not what he'd expected. 

Amidst the burst of confusion, a small chill brushed Gulf's spine. Who'd dare kill a clansman? They'd have the full vengeance of the clan on them, there couldn't have been anyone in ages.

He took a breath. "Who do you think it was?"

"Honestly? This moron had gambling debts and a rep for sticking it in anything that moved. Could easily have been a pissed-off husband, or a loan shark. I wouldn't have let him anywhere near the clan in the first place if it weren't for his family — a good, long-standing Lantern Man family who've given us several fine Luckbringers over the years. The cousin's head of the satellite office in Chiang Mai." 

Luckbringers — that was the Weatherman side of the clan, the side that managed business and investments and all that financial stuff; and the Pillar's own bias, even though he wasn't supposed to have one. But Luckbringers were what he thought of as his soldiers more than Fists or Fingers, so Gulf knew this one, his father took personally.

"Obviously I'll ransack this city if I have to to find the culprit for their sake. But," the Pillar grunted, "that's not really the issue. The real issue is that this isn't the first time something odd's been happening in the last couple of months. We had a robbery on a warehouse two months ago, one that was thankfully mostly empty but still, it's troubling that they knew the whereabouts and were bold enough to attempt at all. There's been an uptick in drugs and loose jade, we had two of those thugs attack one of our betting parlors down in Chinatown just last week. Black market seems busy, is what I'm saying — busier than we like."

Gulf was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I haven't seen anything in the press."

"We've been keeping a lid on it."

He fidgeted with his laces. "So you think it could be . . ?"

The Pillar chuckled, a low, weary sound. "You're too clever by half, son. I wish some of my own advisors were so quick." But the gaze he turned to the water was hard, not amused.

"I don't think they're reckless enough to start trouble now, not when we've both made out handsomely from the last couple of years. But I will say this. Their new Pillar, the young one that came on six months ago . . . well, I hated that old bastard Kirigun, but at least I knew where he stood on things. His son? I'm not so certain." 

Gulf knew very little about the new Naga Pillar, just that he was named Mew Suppasit or something like it, and that he was very young for a Pillar, maybe only six, seven years off Gulf's age. There weren't even any pictures, despite the media furor in the months surrounding his ascension — the new Pillar was said to be very private, quite unlike either his father or Gulf's.

"He's quite charming, did you know that? Good-looking bastard, and he knows it. Tongue ten times sweeter than his father's, though that's not saying much. But I'll wager all of that makes him _more_ dangerous, not less." His father's jaw tightened, a twitch Gulf would've missed were he not watching so carefully. 

"I remember him when he was younger though, well before the treaty. Very few of us would forget, I think — punk was a jade prodigy, killed one of our Fists at fourteen or some ludicrous age like that. Went on to kill two of your great-uncles too, a whole contingent of some of my best men. Had quite the reputation as a teenager."

Gulf bit his lip. There was an unmasked emotion his father's voice denied from surfacing, and that made it worse. 

Now that he thought of it, he did remember adults whispering in the hallways when he was younger, caught something about a Naga heir in fistfuls of conversation and worried faces. It was — alarming to think that this man was now the leader of his clan. 

_Mew Suppasit._

"I don't pretend to know what his intentions are," the Pillar said. "But I do know this."

Gulf's hands — all of a sudden they were enveloped in the Pillar's own, and then he was looking at his father's eyes, even as the reflection of the light on the water. 

" _He despises us_. _"_ With no trace of animosity, only calm acceptance. "We've tried enough times to kill him, and succeeded with enough of his own comrades. The man's swallowed just enough bitterness to be angry, not enough for regrets like his father. He endured the treaty because he was ordered to, and now the leash on his neck's gone; if he gets the chance to wipe us out, he'll take it. That's you, me, Pear . . . any family with the six seeds on their door."

Gulf swallowed. 

"Did — has he — ?"

The Pillar shook his head. "No, no obvious moves as far as I can tell, though it's only been six months. I'd venture he's not that dumb. But there's been some bold plays on their business end that surprise me. And that quite frankly, worry me, if it's a sign of their ambition." The shadow of a ripple deepened in his father's face. "That he's aggressive isn't surprising for a young Alpha. But it means we need to counter it with our own move where it's warranted, like with Khun Thanan."

The man's name was a harsh reminder of how this started. "So I'm just unlucky enough to be the pawn this time?" Gulf, quietly.

The quirk in the Pillar's mouth was more sad than angry this time. "All of us are pawns, son. We're just waiting for our turn." His shoulders moved up, then down in a muted sigh. He looked suddenly small in a way that wasn't just the difference in their heights. "This isn't a game I enjoy playing. I'm sorry you have to be in it."

There it was: the regret in his father's voice said more to the finality of his decision than his anger. But that was actual _vulnerability_ there, and that was an emotion the Pillar didn't allow to visit on him often. Gulf had the sense that if he pushed, really pushed now, he could still escape this dumpster fire. Jump out the moving train. 

"In truth, I hate all of this. I want you to be able to marry whoever makes you happy. Hell, I'd even give you my blessing for Bright, much as I want to throttle that twerp every time I see him. They'll moan about his parentage, of course, but he's as clan as they come. If he ever learned to control his temper, he'd have potential."

Gulf kept his surprise from showing. He didn't think about Bright that way, obviously, but it felt unexpectedly good to hear his father's praise for him. 

"But I can't, not right now. There's too much at stake, I don't trust this new Pillar, and I don't like the way the tea leaves are brewing. With Khun Thanan, at least he has the means to keep you safe, even out of the country if there's any trouble." A pause. "And you don't have to take him, in particular, if you don't want. I've got other candidates lined up. All I'm asking is, go on a date with them, give them a chance. Don't be stubborn."

 _I *am* stubborn_ , Gulf thought. He was about to say something, anything, but his father continued.

"I still have nightmares of that time."

No need to explain which one. _Very few of us would forget._

"I'll wager it's that damn Pillar — seeing him play at being a civilized man is too much, when all of us know who he is. What he is. My point is, I'm getting on in age, son, and old men, all we can think of is how much we have to lose. You and Pear . . . you two are all I have now."

It was the mention of Pear that did it.

Gulf swallowed, turned his face aside. 

Maybe he could just . . . go on a date with them. Didn't have to say yes. He could delay this as long as he could, buy himself time. 

And then . . .?

His father must've felt the shift in him, because he reached out to brush the back of his hand against Gulf's cheek, as if Gulf was still a kid and _mae_ was still here and nothing else mattered. It was awkward, but Gulf didn't move. He didn't know what it was, probably the stubbornness, probably how badly he didn't want to be weak, even though he was, _every_ Omega was, but — something in him couldn't back down. Even if it wasn't a fight.

"You _are_ a good kid," the Pillar murmured.

******

The eighty-eighth floor bar of the Lux Millennia had a view of the Bangkok skyline that was said to be unparalleled. 

Usually, it was the sort of place where reservations had to be made weeks in advance; where seating was allotted carefully, booths spaced wide for private conversation. For the Kirigun name, though, this was a phone call, and the bar was made empty that night except for a single lone bartender who greeted them at the elevator with a deep wai and refreshments in hand.

Mew and Tul got there first, a minute early. This was the sort of dumb thing that the usual movers-and-shaker sort who came here might jockey over, who it was that had to wait, but Tul wasn't particularly bothered, and he'd give up a jade stud if the Pillar cared either. Tul wasn't supposed to be here anyway and this wasn't his kind of mileu, but Mew had suggested they could stay behind later; it was supposed to be a short chat.

Tul felt a wave of annoyance wash over him as he glanced at the oily-haired man who had a grossly wide beam plastered on his face as he dipped into a sloppy wai over and over again. Kantapol Jetjirawat was CEO of a large auto parts manufacturer and a rich man from a rich family, and he meant for everyone to know it: he was decked from head to toe in the veneer of wealth, from the new-looking suit to the oversized gold wristwatch to the pair of emerald rings that almost looked like they were trying to emulate Mew's. That was real bold, for a man who'd pissed them off only weeks ago when news broke out of a suicide in one of his factories in Chonburi. An intrepid journalist did a little digging, and it turned out it was the third one this year. Appalling working conditions were brought up. Rumors of a possible union forming were underway, but the organizer of it kept receiving a mysterious rash of death threats. 

No Cloud, of course, eagerly jumped on the case: their affiliated newspapers had been blasting the news of systematic labor abuses in a well-known manufacturer, complete with lurid pictures of crying widows, without thumbing Naga directly. The clan had been forced to step in to suppress where they could: pay off a few reporters here, a quiet word to some execs there, bring back up a little diversion of their own with a minor scandal one of those idols had been having (kissing an unknown Alpha in a private boat — still not allowed, apparently). 

Tul had heard all this from the Pillarman a week ago, and it was only finally starting to die down. People were annoyed. Still, Jetjirawat was a prominent Lantern Man. One of the most prominent, in fact, enough that Tul knew who he was from the briefing he did as one of the first things on becoming Horn. The family was relatively new, but one of Naga's largest and most consistent tributes since Mew's father's time. That meant that regardless of how annoyed the Pillar must be with him, he had to dance a little more tactfully with his words, restrain his anger. Tul didn't envy him. Had to be a far cry from Mew's Horn days, where words weren't usually the first option.

The smile on Mew's face was friendly as he accepted the gifts Jetjirawat thrust at him: a "1964 Black Bowmore, last in the series, less than 200 bottles made, Pillar" and "a Patek Philippe watch, that's real gold, you can't find this on the market krub". It was too gaudy to be to Mew's taste, Tul knew, but he thanked him courteously and even slipped it on his wrist. 

"I can't tell you how delighted I am you accepted my call, Pillar," the CEO said, wiping his brow a touch too dramatically in Tul's opinion. "I know you Pillars are busy but your sire wouldn't give me even 30 minutes of his time! Long rest his soul, of course, but sometimes youngsters come in with fresh ideas, dawn of a new day, right krub?"

Mew smiled. "A change of pace isn't always bad, I agree."

Tul felt another flicker of irritation. The implication, of course, was that Mew's sire was far stricter, more stingy with his time than Mew: he wouldn't give these corporate suit types the time of day, much less thirty. And the suits, of course, were too terrified of him to complain. 

Not Mew though — Tul could see it now, how Jetjirawat looked at him and saw a handsome, cheerful young man with the face of a Korean boyband member and the easygoing air of someone who'd grown up with everything working out for him. _An impressionable pretty boy_. That was probably the rumors Jetjirawat had fished out in advance as well: the good looks, the youth, someone an older and more cunning hand could, maybe, take advantage of.

That was amusing at least: the thought of seeing him try.

The Pillar suggested they sit by the windows for the view, followed by a subtle glance at the man's bodyguards flanking him. Jetjirawat startled, remembered quickly one could hardly have bodyguards around the Pillar, and shooed them off with a less subtle glance at Tul. 

Tul picked the closest seat by the window. The Pillar eased in next to him, sliding over the extra Tom Collins.

There was some small talk. Horses, stocks, a recent vacation in Shanghai that the man described in excruciating detail. Mew bantered along charmingly. Tul drank a little, not particularly paying attention. He wanted to talk to Mew about Lefty, the fence who'd recruited the thieves and who had, annoyingly and perhaps wisely for himself, decided to vanish.

Finally, the Pillar spread his hands and said, "So tell me how we can help you." Signaling the opening of the getting-down-to-business part.

This was what Jetjirawat had been waiting for, and he pounced with a beam. "It's about the new EV battery proposal, Pillar, the one the city administration has out for public buses. We're in the running against APCO and Gentex but could use some, ah, fingers on the scale to see it over the finish line."

The Pillar considered this. "I thought that you'd only started seeking investment last July. Has production already started?"

"Not yet krub," Jetjirawat replied, a little less eagerly; probably not anticipating Mew would know this. "But with the slowdown in the China market, we've got slack in the production lines right now. We're confident we can convert some of our factories around outer Bangkok. Electric's still a small market right now, naturally, but the tax incentives make it interesting. That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about — the excise tax dropping to 2% is good, of course, but it needs to go lower or come with a 20-year guarantee to make it worthwhile."

Mew leaned back in his seat, sounding thoughtful as he rolled the drink in his hand. "Isn't the tax holiday already 5-8 years?"

"Ah," Jetjirawat flushed. "At our scale, Pillar, a year or two means millions, as you understand. It could mean the difference between whether a venture is worth entertaining or not krub. It's all a fine line — investors, you know, these are the sorts of things they like to see, things that show up on slides."

Mew finished his sip and placed it back on the table, glancing up with a faint smile. "Well, I'll take a slide. How many millions, do you think — in the forty, fifty million range?"

"That sounds about right krub," Jetjirawat said. Tul privately doubted the man had calculated anything. These were the sort of people who couldn't resist squeezing an advantage if it came by, considered it getting their money's worth. There were Lantern Men families, old ones, who knew what it meant to be clan, considered themselves blood brothers. These ones thought of themselves as clients.

"It's a small sum, of course. But still," Jetjirawat continued vigorously, "A small favor goes a long way, eh?"

Mew's mouth quirked. "I'm not opposed to a small favor. I'm just curious, since I heard that you made record profits last year. That's impressive — I'd imagine there's enough pull for investors there."

Jetjirawat puffed up at the reminder. "Of course Pillar," he said, sounding terribly pleased at the chance to go on about it. Tul eyeballed the bartender, who nodded and went to fetch another drink. Clever man. "We did have _quite_ the banner year last year, mostly thanks to the new deal with Toyota and the strong growth in domestic demand. It's promising enough that we've been looking to expand at least four more factories along the corridor, this EV business is only a small part of it."

"I'm glad to hear it," Mew said. "And does any of this record profit have to do with the cost-cutting at your factories? 

Jetjirawat's mouth opened. Closed. "I'm . . . afraid I don't understand, Pillar."

"It seems like you've been enjoying the absence of some labor conditions," the Pillar said, calmly. "Getting sixteen hours a day out of pregnant women and denying them protective equipment must be quite the profitable venture."

Jetjirawat looked like a bewildered fish. Tul felt a burst of surprise, then savage pleasure, before remembering that they probably did not want to skewer this man too hard. Aggravating.

"Ah, Pillar . . . you have to understand, my factories are absolutely no different from any other in the industry." With a nervous tug at the collar. "It's No Cloud, you know the media is biased towards them and they've had their lapdogs targeting us — hell, if you take a look at APCO or Summit, it's the same damn thing! Why isn't anyone investigating them?"

"So you're not denying it," Mew said, in a too-casual voice. 

The CEO gaped. "Well, no, I assure you, it's all lies — "

"And the union organizer?"

The crease between Jetjirawat's brow deepened. "You mean . . . ach, that one. He's a plant, a complete plant krub. Someone's paying him off to make up bullshit, I guarantee it. Just trace the money trail —"

"Funny," Mew said. "I spoke to his parents yesterday. They live in a one-room shack and can't afford his hospital bills. Turns out a pair of goons visited him in the middle of the night and broke both his legs."

He was fiddling with his sleeve. As Tul watched, the gold watch Jetjirawat had gifted him earlier was unfastened and set in the center of the table, clock side up.

A spark of foreboding flickered to life in Tul.

"You've taken up 26 minutes of my time." The Pillar's voice was light, almost amused, but the amusement did not reach his gaze. That was full of dark promise: hard enough to cut a man's neck, soft enough to make it hurt. "You have 4 minutes to explain how you're going to recompense them, and then how you're going to work with the union to rectify the inadequacies in your factories."

Fuck. 

The Pillar was — furious, Tul realized. That was anger radiating off him in waves, relaxed as his lean back in the booth was, and Jetjirawat knew it. For a second, naked fury exposed itself on his face: this was not a man used to being denied, much less humiliated. Then it deserted him and he choked, reddening to an almost-rosy glow in the intimate lighting of the bar. He sputtered.

He was wasting the precious little time he had. Tul glanced carefully at Mew, trying to signal him. This was still a civilian, and an important clan ally as well. He didn't really mean . . .?

The silence simmered. Three men, an empty bar the size of a floor — and still it was not enough room. Mew continued to finish his drink, unhurried. Tul felt, more than heard, the long hand counting down, the way the train was not quite wrestling out of their control, but suspended over a cliff.

They couldn't afford this. He had to cut it off before it crossed somewhere irretrievable. 

His mouth was already opening when the mammalian instinct of saving one's own neck finally returned to Jetjirawat in a great whoosh. The resentment was squashed as quick as it'd surfaced; the man cleared his throat and made a great show of fussing at his tie, bobbing his head up and down.

"I, ah, completely understand your dismay Pillar." The voice betrayed only a slight tremor; the knuckles of his hands rubbed restlessly on the glass. "Yes, yes, that won't be an issue at all. I'll have my people get on it immediately."

The Pillar let him stammer a little longer before he set his glass down with a smile, a quietly sheathed one that did not reach his eyes. "Krub. Then we can consider whether the excise tax would be of aid to you here."

******

Max sauntered in, as was Max's usual, five minutes late and carrying a bag of chips.

Tul watched with a familiar twinge of exasperation as he paused by the bar to chat up the bartender first, who unwound fetchingly at the attention and produced a bottle of Singha and what looked like a plate of chili peanuts from some mysterious hole under the counter. (Singha! How did this place even have Singha?) Max was offensively attractive and knew it, and the waiter was probably stuck serving rich old men most of the time so Tul didn't blame him, but did every beta in Bangkok have to magically become a blushing O around his First Fist? 

Tul couldn't even stamp a bond mark on him, not that he wanted to.

"I saw that auto parts dude on the way in," Max laughed as he scooted in, flopping a casual arm around Tul. Mew had moved to the other side after Jetjirawat had left (or rather, fled) to make a call. They'd yet to talk. " _Shia_ , you guys must've scared the crap out of him. He was walking like he had a firecracker up his ass!"

Tul debated shrugging him off, since they weren't technically out to the Pillar, but it'd look weirder if Max wasn't groping him and his t-shirt did smell kinda nice: warm, smoky with street food and old rain. He kept his voice light. "He'd probably prefer that to what we did to him, to be honest."

"Fuck, I like where this is going already." Max took a huge gulp of his beer, shook himself like a wet dog. "Seeing his face made me remember his brat was the ringleader of the morons who picked the fight last month. You know, the one with the No Cloud kid."

Tul had genuinely forgotten, and it was an unpleasant reminder. One of their junior Fingers, a thickheaded Alpha still in college, had gone out drinking with some four or five of his friends and ran into a jaded student on the way back that they didn't recognize, so just assumed he was No Cloud. Deeply inebriated — and probably not terribly adequate when sober either — they'd decided to pick a fight with him like a typical bunch of rowdy knotheads on a Saturday night.

Tul still wanted to facepalm at the memory. Out of all the strangers they could get in a fight with . . . 

They couldn't even blame their old enemies this time. It was a shit look, not even a real duel — those were banned under the treaty, but Tul knew those still happened sometimes, long as they were private ones, or the sort of street scuffles academy kids got into — but a five on one? That was an attempted beatdown. 

Attempted. They'd gotten their asses kicked, which Max was still complaining about as the worst thing about the whole affair.

"That was the father?" The Pillar's eyebrow quirked up an inch as he put his phone away. "Explains a lot."

"Yeah, dickless mumbled something about running to his sire." Max snorted. "I demoted them to community service for months. They'll be lucky if I let them out of wheeling meals to grannies by graduation."

"Harsh. What did the grannies do," Tul prodded the Alpha's stomach, mouth curling up.

The conversation derailed with Max there — that tended to happen, Tul and Mew were good about maintaining a semblance of formality, but Max dropped the average age of everyone in his orbit by about a third — before finally dragging itself back to circle around obligatory things for a while: Tul wanted to brief them about Lefty, which was frustrating but still early on, and run down a quick update on the academy reforms, which were going better. Better, at least, than how Boonrueng and the other conservatives were making them out to be. The Pillar had wanted to open up admissions to more betas, and speaking to the actual teachers and kids it seemed like the first batch was doing decent so far in terms of being accepted by their peers. Better than they'd worried about.

At last, they went back to Jetjirawat, which Tul knew by the way Mew's shoulders stiffened a subtle fraction was not a topic he particularly wanted to dissect, at least not right now.

"It's getting late," Tul said, shifting in a way that said he was going to get up. "And I'm picking up a headache. Let's do this tomorrow."

"I'm still finishing my drink," Max groaned at the same time Mew propped his elbows up on the table and rested his head in them.

Dark, languid eyes regarded Tul's. "Well, we're all here."

Figures the Pillar didn't like delaying his battles. Tul considered the next words in his head like a rubix cube, turning it at all angles. "The outcome was good. It resolves everything neatly, even the business with the senator." Wattanakul had been more resistant than they'd expected at their lunch the other day when they'd floated the question about the tax.

". . . But?"

"I think you already know my thoughts there, Pillar." The words spooled slowly, then steadily out of Tul's chest. He was surprised to find how, now that he wasn't actively pushing it aside, he _was_ a little angry. They'd come too close to severing a relationship they didn't need to lose, not for a new Pillar who needed as many alliances as he could get.

Too close? No, Tul remembered the white flash of rage in the man's face: that may as well be a cord already cut. He doubted the man would forget the loss of face anytime soon, and that troubled Tul: was Jetjirawat the sort of man who'd be a whipped dog, or a cornered rat?

"I don't like him any more than you do, Pillar. But in truth, that's a bridge I don't know can be repaired. And it might not be one we want to blow up without talking about it first, at least."

"Blow up?"

. . . Damn. That was a careless choice of words. Max could pull it off, but Mew expected more from Tul. Childhood friends or not, he _was_ still the Pillar, and the Pillar had no friends.

"I used too harsh a word there krub," Tul conceded with a nod. He didn't want to give real ground though; he wouldn't be the Horn if he did. "But what I'm saying is, he's _pissed_ , and it's going to take time and effort to repair that."

A scoff at his side — that was Max, stretching. "These lizards? Don't worry, they'll come crawling back when they smell the green. And I don't mean jade."

Mew's expression didn't seem to agree, which made Tul feel a little better. The Pillar's anger didn't blind him to reality.

The thing was, though, Mew _did_ have a temper. That Tul knew well. It had both caused and saved them from enough disaster.

He looked at his friend. In some ways, Jetjirawat had gotten off lightly. 

In some ways, Tul could look at him, and see the shadow of his sire.

That was a brutal thought. Tul hated himself for even thinking it. He refocused on Jetjirawat. _Past is past._ Nothing they could do now except do what they always did: deal with the aftermath, which in this case could be a long ways off.

Luckily, cooling the temperature was a role Tul was rather familiar with. "That's only my opinion though, working with a lot of prideful men. But honestly, I'm not the one to ask. I've never worked with Lantern Men, I doubt if I can give you much good advice there."

"If I'd wanted good advice, I'd have gone to the Pillarman." Yut Nantakarn, one of Mew's father's generation and a genuinely sensible head that Tul liked.

Still a little sore, Tul thought. "Then why ask us?"

"Because he wants bad advice." Beside him, Max scooped up a spoonful of peanuts and shoved it in his mouth, chili and all. "Here, I got one: we're on the eighty-eighth floor. Next time he demands a meeting here, chuck him off of it. Better yet, let _me_ chuck him off of it."

"Thank you Max." Mew's tone was dry. "I think I'd like to keep coming though, if only for the desserts." 

That did unknot the tension though, however slight it was. The loose collar of Mew's shirt shifted as he moved his gaze to the expanse of window, where the night skyline of Bangkok glittered impassively back. Tul saw the way the mood coiled like restless koi in him; he was tired. 

"I don't regret tightening a rein where it's loose, whatever's on the other end. On the other hand, Tul's not wrong that I've been more frustrated than I like. It's No Cloud, their expansion these last few months — it bothers me that they've been so aggressive."

Hearing Mew say No Cloud so casually stirred a little surprise in Tul, but it was cut off by Max's laugh. "What, the idol thing? What are they gonna do, recruit their Fists from fangirls?" 

"It _is_ pretty tacky, even for them," Mew shrugged. 

"The heir's an Alpha girl, maybe it's her thing. Daddy buys her her favorite toys— "

Tul poked a chopstick in Max's arm. "Don't be sexist."

That instigated a flurry of protest about how multiple of Max's top tier were women, thank you very much, which Tul teased but not very hard because he knew it was really about the fact it was No Cloud and Max could never pass up the chance for a dig. Mew didn't crack a smile though, which said something to how seriously he was thinking. 

"The sponsorship is a PR move. I'm more worried by the fact they're actively looking in TV — that's a new industry to them, much as it makes sense with the rest of their media plays, and they're taking risks to do it. I don't know if it has to do with how distracted they've been with the drugs, but all I know is that Phawattakun hasn't been this adventurous in a while."

 _So what's triggering it now_ , was left unsaid. 

"We're not just sitting here doing nothing either," Tul murmured. It worried him, the alarmingly thin space the Pillar's attention had left having to be used up on _them_. They couldn't ignore them, obviously, but actively engaging No Cloud wasn't going to go in any direction but a bad one. Treading water, going nowhere . . . Tul only saw the tail end of the war, he was 17 when the treaty was signed and not a prodigy like Mew, but he'd known people who'd died. Classmates; cousins. Friends. People remembered. 

"Shai." Mew's voice was hard. 

Max's sigh punctured the crystal mood the air was settling in. "Well, don't forget to take a breather. Your sister swears she'll start gatecrashing your meetings if you don't show up the next time we go out." That was said lightly, of course, but Tul felt the warm lazy concern in the green of his aura too, where his body was pressed against Tul's side. Mew's eyes flickered away and he said something about going to The Penelope, which relieved Tul a little — the clan's preeminent bathhouse (more of a leisure complex to be honest, the baths were just a small part of it) was one of the few places the Pillar could go to to relax in the city. A lot of his own men as well as those on the Weather Man side used the saunas and lounges there to socialize about work, so it didn't exactly escape the bubble, but at least Mew might get some time to himself. 

Plus, the rumor was there was an O he was seeing there, or at least sleeping with. Tul struggled to believe it and he'd rather run into a burning building than ask, but he hoped so. It'd been too long since his friend had shown any interest in that area, and if he was getting romantically involved with an O again, that meant he was more healed than Tul thought.

  
  


******

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

  * AJIOW:EFOIJ there were supposed to be TWO MORE SCENES in this chapter that are super important but it got too long!! 😭 BUT TRUST ME, MEW IS *NOT* SCREWING SOMEONE NOT NAMED G AT THE BATHHOUSE 😅 This is a 100% #MewGulf fic, no worries XD
  * Possibly Related to Said Scenes: 🚨 Mew POV incoming 🚨
  * Man mysteriously showing up killed, jade missing . . . no one seeing the culprit . . . methinks Boun is screwed 😨
  * Gulf's dad obviously doesn't have the full picture, but he's right to say that Mew is . . . not to be fucked with 😳 I was cackling while writing that scene hahaha
  * There's a clear (I hope) paralleling/contrasting of the two Pillars in this chapter - their personalities, their leadership styles, their personal convictions. I have . . . very mixed feelings on Gulf's father - flawed is the least of it.
  * I'm hoping that a few differences in the clans themselves are starting to take shape too. I'd say that Mew's clan is the traditional, conservative one that has its base in old-school sectors like manufacturing, real estate and construction, healthcare, shipping. Gulf's clan is younger, more service-oriented and consumer-facing - entertainment, tourism, hospitality, leisure and gambling, and so on.
  * This was a LOT of dialoguing in general 😅 I hope it's not too bogged-down and exposition-y to read, I had to stuff in sooo many mentions to set up a bunch of stuff later 😣 Trying to figure out how to inject more action and make it more interesting instead of just people standing around though.



REFERENCE NOTES:

  * Yup, Pear is a ref to 2gether! Obviously not the same character since she's only 14/15 here, but I love the name and character from that show and appearance-wise you can assume similar. Gulf does have an older sister named Grace but I'm keeping with my pattern of avoiding references to IRL family members. I do keep calling his mom _mae_ here like I do in my other fics though, just because it seems to be a fandom thing (M's mom = Mama Jongcheveevat, G's mom = mae).
  * Mew's sister is also here, you can guess what she'll be called ;P
  * Jub is the real name of Gulf's cat iirc. Mainly I'm just thinking of how much Gulf loves kitties in general, Mild says it's something most people don't know about him (except the entire fandom knows now hahaha). 
  * The Hundred Principles are a veery thin reference to [Gusu Lan's Four Thousand Rules](https://modao-zushi.fandom.com/wiki/Wall_of_Discipline). But I decided to spare poor Gulf from having to memorize that much.
  * "King's list" is utterly made up, what I meant was Dean's list but that sounds SO American so I wanted a Thai-sounding equivalent. I couldn't find anything like it on Chulalongkorn University's site though so I just made something up.
  * Mew is known for having a sweet tooth :) I have in my head a suspicion he likes European food too, but I'm not sure if that's just because his spice tolerance isn't as high as Gulf's. 
  * A wild Zee appears 😭 Just a teaser for now but I'm excited for his character.
  * Gulf may be powerless here, but he's not dumb 🥺 He has an eye for detail that I think others *coughAlphascough* tend to overlook when they're used to doing things through dominance.



RESEARCH NOTES:

  * Lots of Season of You/Hades/Greek-mythology references! _The Orphean_ car in the last chapter is a ref to Orpheus (see <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orpheus_and_Eurydice>, he's most famous for traveling to the underworld to rescue his lover). The "six seeds" No Cloud symbol refers to the six pomegranate seeds Penelope ate that trapped her in the underworld for half the year. _The Penelope_ is NOT Persephone, Penelope is the queen of Ithaca and wife of Odysseus who remained faithful to her husband for 20 years of absence, during which she had to keep an entire army of suitors at bay with little hope of her husband's return. So she's a symbol of romantic faith and loyalty. As a character I picked her over Persephone because she's a little more thematically relevant to that particular arc I have in mind. 
  * On the other hand, you could say that Gulf IS our Persephone — still trapped in the underworld, for all he's tried to escape 🥺 Let's hope a loveless marriage isn't his fate though.
  * [**Ratchada**](https://wikitravel.org/en/Bangkok/Ratchadaphisek) is the nickname for Ratchadaphisek, the entertainment mecca with lots of clubs, bars, karaoke, food and shopping etc. It's almost entirely locals, especially students. Its killer feature is that its clubs can stay open until 2am because it's a "government-designated entertainment zone", which is 1 hour later than everywhere else in Bangkok.
  * [**Silom**](https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk011twGU8TVmdtPTAh1JpP4iV5BQVQ%3A1599528620335&ei=rN5WX4eAFNjj-gT5vaW4AQ&q=silom+bangkok+wikitravel&oq=silom+bangkok+wikitravel&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQAzIHCCEQChCgAToECAAQRzoCCAA6BggAEBYQHjoICAAQFhAKEB46BQghEKABSgUINxIBMVCTCViIEmCzE2gAcAJ4AYABuQKIAZcQkgEHMC4zLjQuMpgBAKABAaoBB2d3cy13aXrAAQE&sclient=psy-ab&ved=0ahUKEwiHhuS5tNjrAhXYsZ4KHfleCRcQ4dUDCA0&uact=5) is basically Bangkok's Wall Street — it's the city's main financial center filled with banking institutions, corporate high-rises and condos. 
  * Thailand actually is a HUGE auto manufacturer — the 12th largest in the world, largest in the ASEAN region — and they're making a big push for greenifying it, with a bunch of [government incentives in EV production](https://markets.businessinsider.com/news/stocks/thailand-government-approves-new-investment-privileges-to-stimulate-electric-vehicle-production-1028149365#). It's said to be worrying for manufacturing jobs though since EVs require far fewer parts.
  * The tallest hotel in Bangkok is in fact 88 floors, but I just like the number 8 :) 
  * [Kaffir chili lime peanuts](https://medium.com/@nuzen/recipes-of-the-unfortunate-heartbreak-spicy-kaffir-lime-bar-peanuts-d52c52d1b5b8) is a popular cheap bar snack in Thailand. They're part of a category of Thai dishes called ["gap klaem"](https://eatingasia.typepad.com/eatingasia/2006/03/a_nip_on_the_ho.html), meant specifically to be taken with alcohol. As to how Max managed to finagle these at a snobby rich-people's bar in a fancy hotel . . . he has his ways 😅
  * I'm in quite the tricky place when it comes to last names, because Thailand didn't even have last names until 1913 so it doesn't make sense to have the Phawattakun or Kirigun names be generations old. For the sake of fiction though, let's assume these are more like Game of Thrones style houses where people care about last names.



HAVE SOME MORE CHARACTER INSPO PICS BECAUSE I'M VERY INTO THIS:

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter as @kanawhut1 if you want to ask any questions or DMs or check out supplementary notes! I'll be responding to every comment on this AO3 as well, they're super appreciated :D


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